


Under Your Bed, In Your Closet, In Your Head

by ThatwasHOT



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Always Keep Fighting, Anal Sex, Angst, Art, Blow Jobs, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Dreams and Nightmares, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epic orgasms, Fantasy, First Time, Fix-It, Flagstaff, Hand Jobs, Horror, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I'm having too much fun with this, Idjits, Lurv, M/M, Magical Healing Cock, Memories, My First Fanfic, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Phone Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Prank Wars, Rating: NC17, Sam is a lady in the street but a freak in the bed, Schmoop, Secrets, Sex in the Impala, Shower Sex, Slow Build, This is getting dark someone hug me, Whump, Wincest - Freeform, Young Dean, Young Sam, awesome sex, cocktease!Dean, hot brother love, ouch my feels!, shameless!Sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-17 07:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 114,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1379863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatwasHOT/pseuds/ThatwasHOT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/><a href="http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/That_was_HOT/media/TheFinalSandman2_zps8f290098.jpg.html"></a><br/><img/><br/>"The epic love story of Sam and Dean"<br/></p>
</div>Warnings for schmoop, angst, hot brother love, gratuitous F-words, violence, dimples, dubcon, weecest, Idjits, and terrible parenting. Just consider all warnings possible on this thing and lower your expectations and we will both be safe, okay? ...and damn, how did all that plot get in there? I promise this will be deliciously NC-17 before I am done.
            </blockquote>





	1. Teaser

**Author's Note:**

> Never be the people in the first 5 minutes.

Justine breathed in the iron rich scent of blood on the night air as she swung open the door to the rooftop. There were spatters on the ground that glistened like dropped rubies. 

“Juliane!” her screams felt muffled as if she were yelling the name through water. “Where are you?” 

Every time she thought she was closing in, her sister’s voice would come from even further away. She had chased it up twelve floors, and there was finally nowhere else for them to go. She wound her way around the columns, air conditioners, and other obstacles in her way until the roof took on the feeling of a maze, like she might as well have been running in place.

Above the sound of her heart’s wild pounding in her ears, she heard her sister call out to her again. Her eyes searched frantically in front of her until they finally landed on Juliane’s form at the end of the building. She was silhouetted against the night’s sky by all the lights from the city beyond, facing forward on the ledge of the rooftop, teetering, twelve stories up. Her dark hair waved out around her in the wind that rushed up from the streets below. 

“I can’t do it anymore!” Juliane wailed, as blood began to leak from her eyes. Her body was covered in wounds as if a wild animal had ravaged her. A superficial slice appeared across her neck in front of Justine’s stunned eyes. An unseen force continued to cut down her sister’s chest as she ran towards her. 

She was not sure how she would fight something she couldn’t see, but she’d rather die trying. 

“Stay strong!” Justine cried, reaching her sister. Thrusting her hands out, she grabbed hold of the bottom of her skirt. Her sister let out a sob and flung herself backwards, wrenching the material from her grasp as she plummeted off the roof. 

Justine dropped to her knees and screamed.

There was a dark laugh behind her. “Again!” the voice rasped. 

She suddenly found herself sitting at a table in their home, across from Juliane. 

Justine grabbed her sister’s arms and pulled her in close, desperate to hold on this time. She felt a wet warmness against her fingers. Her sister’s arms were slit open from elbow to wrist, blood gushing out all over the table between them. 

“Why won’t it end?”


	2. That Noise You Heard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time. Be gentle.

Laughter woke Sam. 

It was a humorless cold laugh, which was quickly matched by the growling of his brother. Dean was muttering something in reply in a serious, you are about to get your ass kicked tone. Sam strained to hear the words but couldn’t make out more than a “no” and a “kill”. Doors slammed repeatedly as Sam finally and very slowly managed to crack open an eye. Just getting his one eyelid to rise involved a surprising amount of effort. He watched as Dean’s jean clad bowed legs paced back and forth in the space between their two beds. Sam had to struggle to get his body to move at all; even following the movement of Dean’s pacing made his eyes lag. After another minute he got his head to turn and he glanced up as his brother walked by for the dozenth time. Both of Dean’s hands were pulling at his short hair, his brow furrowed, his green eyes wild in… _was that panic?_

Upon seeing Dean’s expression, adrenaline shot through Sam and he bolted upright, his head beginning to swim. He flopped back down onto his back, sparing himself from a black out. Everything in his head felt fuzzy, thick, like a seriously bad whiskey and Jager hangover. He groaned.

“Dean?”

Where were they, what had happened, why was Dean looking so freaked? Sam’s mouth didn’t seem to be working any better than the rest of him, as none of the words were actually making it past his lips.

His logical mind clicked on and tried to retrace his steps in order to answer his own questions. There was a hunt, _there was always a hunt_ , and it had gone well. No, not well, seriously not well and then… everything after that thought was in fog. He was sprawled out on the scratchy comforter of a motel bed, staring up at a watermarked motel ceiling. The starburst clock hanging over the kitschy wallpaper near the bed ticked quietly, the only noise in the room. He squinted until he could see that the hands of the clock read one twenty-four. He wasn’t even sure if that was am or pm. At least he wasn’t tied up and being threatened by some demon as was often the case when he had awoken groggily like this in the past.

Sam ran a hand down his smooth face, over the blue flannel shirt on his chest and along his stomach. Nothing hurt, he didn’t feel injured, he didn’t even feel sore. The only real notion he felt at all, as he looked back up at Dean, was relief—happiness even. He realized, despite the fuzzy head, that he felt better than he had felt in days. That was because it had been days since he had seen Dean. No, that wasn’t true, he had seen him, he had been seeing him every waking moment and yet…

Then the thought came to him that it had been days since Dean had seen _him_. But that didn’t make any sense. His mind was trying to put the puzzle pieces together but nothing was fitting.

Dean’s face came back into view in that instant. He was in an absolute panic, and Dean Winchester did not panic. Sam knew this had to be bad.

“Dean? What’s wrong? What’s happening?” Sam finally managed to string the words together and tried to sit up again, but only made it as far as propping himself up on his elbows. Dean’s only reply was to back away from the bed. Sam eyed him up and down, looking for injuries, looking for blood. He had on his leather jacket and his favorite worn-in black tee, which was typical Dean attire and didn’t help jog any memories in his head about what happened, or even what day it was. Hell, he didn’t even know what month it was. There were no signs Dean was hurt, however. No bleeding wounds, no bullet holes, and that made Sam calmer. Sam patted the bed next to him, trying to get Dean to come sit down, take a breath, and tell him what was happening.

Dean took another step back away from him and hugged his arms around himself, the muscles in his jaw flexing as if he was chewing on his fear. Sam exhaled, “Calm down. Whatever this is, we will figure it out.” Dean turned away to face the motel door as if he hadn’t heard him.

“Just stop. Please leave.”

He started his pacing again, this time in front of the bolted and chained door, looking much like an agitated tiger in a cage. There was a faint noise from outside and his eyes started flying between Sam and the door. He suddenly turned towards it, bracing his whole body against it, pushing. His body tensed with effort, clearly terrified. Seeing Dean like this got the blood pumping, and Sam was up and off the bed an instant later.

“What do you mean leave?” he asked, those words finally hitting his foggy feeling head.

He took the few short strides from the bed furthest from the door and braced his hands above Dean’s, pushing with him against it. Dean’s face was white when he looked over his shoulder at Sam, his freckles jumping out in stark contrast to his drained skin. Sam pressed hard against the door but didn’t feel anything pushing back at them, nor did he sense anything on the other side. Another minute ticked by with nothing happening. He leaned towards the window, moving the dusty mauve curtains aside with one finger and took a quick look outside.

An empty motel parking lot is all he saw.

“Dude, there isn’t anything out there. What is going on?”

He didn’t answer or stop pushing against the door. An overwhelming urge came over Sam as he watched Dean. He needed to pull him into his arms, he had to feel that he was alive and okay. Something had happened and though he couldn’t remember what, he needed to hug his brother, all teasing later that he was a girl be damned. He threw his arms around Dean from behind him, pressing in for that contact, that confirmation that he was really with him.

Dean tugged himself away out of his grasp, and swung his body around tensing. “Go away!” Dean snapped, his eyes still wild. Sam stepped back, his heart clenching tight at the sight of him acting like this. Dean Winchester was going out of his mind, in absolute fear, and somehow it was Sam causing it. He didn’t know what to do.

“I'm sorry. I'm just real happy to see you up and around, that's all.”

Dean turned back and leaned against the door again. Unsure of what else he should be doing, Sam put his hands back up against the door too and pushed with him.

“Go away,” he whispered this time.

“How can I leave Dean? You’re blocking the door.”

Sam didn’t know what was happening, but more than willing to go if it would calm Dean down and give him a second to think.

“Go away.”

“Okay, okay man, I’ll go, just...”

Dean leaned his head up against the door. “Please.”

It finally registered that Dean wasn’t even talking to him but was instead whispering, pleading through the door to whomever or whatever waited on the other side.

“Saaam,” a deep voice on the outside of the door groaned, as if on cue. It thumped up against the wood of the door, shaking it under Sam’s pushing hands. Now it was Sam’s turn to wear the wild-eyed expression his brother had been wearing since he awoke. _The voice on the other side of the door…was that? How could…how could that be?_ Nothing was making sense. “Sammy!” the voice called again, this time full of urgency and in a voice most distinctively _Dean_.

Beneath his brother’s pushing shoulder and his own hands, the once standard beige motel door began to turn an inky black. It shimmered with curls of color that looked somewhere between smoke and paint as it spread up and around the door, staining it until the whole thing was as pitch black as demon eyes. Even the door knob was a shining shade of pure onyx. The thought that jumped into his mind then was that the door looked like a portal straight to hell.

“What is this?” Sam asked. He could feel the change in the door under his hands but he continued to push with Dean. The door grew hot and slithery under his palms and he couldn’t help but to finally pull away from it. He took a step back from the sight, dread filling his chest, as his eyes scanned the room for weapons. But he saw nothing of any use, no duffle bags, no guns, no salt.

Before Sam could say anything else, Dean launched himself off and away from the door, snagging Sam’s arm as he went passed and pulling him around with him. Sam could hear the door creak open behind them, a gruff laugh accompanying it.

Dean threw the both of them across the room and to a wall, where there was a line of at least 10 doors. There were so many doors Sam couldn’t get an accurate count in the split second he had to consider it. Before he had another full second to ponder how a motel room could possibly have so many exits, Dean wrenched open a door in the middle and pushed him through, following close behind, yelling out a line of curse words at whatever was trailing only a step or two in their wake…

Had Sam blacked out?

He found himself no longer standing, but instead sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala. He felt the warm vinyl of the seat under the palm of his hand. He could smell the oil and takeout, and his brother, the scents that he always associated with the car. Road signs were flying past so fast he couldn’t make out what they said, didn’t know where they were.

“Sam, listen. I get why you are here but I need you to go,” Dean said calmly as Sam snapped his head in the direction of the sudden voice.

Dean kept his eyes on the road. He seemed at ease now, one hand on the wheel, the other fiddling with the radio like his normal laidback self. He turned the volume up and one of his favorite Led Zeppelin songs came pouring out of the speakers.

♪♩♬ … _She said, "You might get hurt if you don't keep it hid"_ … ♫♪

He smiled and nodded along, leaving Sam more confused than ever.

“Go? Go where? Am I… dreaming?” Sam shook his head, everything still feeling hazy. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

“Obviously,” was all Dean replied continuing to listen to the song as he began to tap his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat. He seemed calmer the more it played on.

“Tell me what the heck is going on?”

Dean glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “You are inside my head,” he stated plainly, “and you need to get out.”

“I’m in your _what!_?”

“You’re in my fucking grapefruit, Sam. I told you not to come and I need you to go now, okay? It isn’t safe.”

“But...”

Sam put a hand on Dean’s arm, rolling the leather of his jacket between his fingers. It all seemed real, felt real. Before he could speak another word, he heard a voice come from the back seat. “Sam!” which matched the same “Sam!” coming from his brother’s own lips next to him.

Dean jerked the wheel before Sam could even turn his head. Everything was screeching to a halt and then Dean flew at him from across the bench seat, wrenching open his door and shoving him out.

♪♬ … _Squeeze it so hard, I'll fall right out of bed_ … ♫♪

…and Sam was thrown backwards towards the ground.

His back suddenly bumped up against…the wooden bar? He turned, looking around, once again baffled. There were civilians laughing, the smell of stale beer in the air, and a surly, balding bartender leaning in. “Let me see some ID, kid.” No Impala, no road. They were now in a crowded bar. A bar he recognized actually, a _time,_ he recognized.

A disoriented Sam fingered his fake ID out of his wallet and handed it over. He had barely turned sixteen when he was last in this particular bar, but his ID stated 21. He was tall enough to pull it off fairly well if it was a dim enough dive and they didn’t look too hard at him—or okay just didn’t care—but he always held his breath when he handed the ID over. He was well past the carding stage now, and the absurdity of him holding his breath made it come out in a rushing laugh. He turned away from the bar and saw the cocky as ever 19-year-old Dean send a wink his way from across the room.

Dean bent over the pool table, cue in hand, and sunk the last ball with ease. He grinned from ear to ear as he snatched up the cash that had been sitting on the edge of the table. The small crowd that had been watching him parted, a few slapping him on the back as he made his way past.

Sam remembered this night.

This was the night Dean had hustled pool so well that he made enough money for the both of them to eat, stuff themselves really, for the rest of the month. Dad had told them he’d be back weeks ago, like he so often promised in the past. And just like the times before this, the credit card finally got flagged, and the meager cash ran out. They didn’t have a whole lot to eat the week before, and Dean was always teasing Sam that his legs had to be hollow.

Dean sauntered toward Sam, somehow charming the whole room with every step, in the way only a Winchester could. He was so proud he practically beamed, a mix of relief and happiness all over his face. Sam smiled at the sight. He remembered that night, and the days that followed because Dean ate like he might never see food again. He ate until he had to unbuckle his jeans and pat his belly. A satisfied, full Dean had always made Sam smile. Dean grabbed the beer out of Sam’s hand that he hadn’t even realized he was holding and took a long swig. Dean was fresh-faced here with none of the hardness around the edges that he always wore in his expression nowadays.

He handed the beer back with a grin. “I’m trying to keep us in memories and thoughts where I have control, Sam.” His words didn’t match the smile on his lips. Sam was suddenly snapped out of reveries and remembered what Dean had said in the car. He was inside Dean’s head. It all came rushing back.

Sam now knew why he had been so worried.


	3. Dreams Of Liars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a ghost possessing my keyboard. He keeps saying he is my muse, but I don’t think so.

  
The real trouble that had landed Sam inside Dean’s head started a week back. They were on what they thought would be a typical salt and burn in a small town in Nebraska before something much more sinister reared its ugly head. As is often the luck of the Winchesters.

But Sam knew the events went even further back than that. Less than a month before Nebraska they had been in Dallas, Texas ganking a kitsune...

***

Dean stabbed the kitsune before her claws came fully out. Her fox-like eyes going wide in shock as her body sunk down to the ground next to the car, dead. He removed his knife from the creature’s heart with a tug and looked up just as Sam came barreling around the corner of the school gymnasium.

They had finally figured out the killer picking off high school students in the area was a substitute teacher. They stopped her from snacking on the adrenal gland of the only student that was in her Saturday detention, and the creature had fled, with the brothers getting separated in the pursuit.

“Lots of help _you_ , were. Where the hell did you go?” Dean asked.

“Thanks for the concern.” Sam looked down at the very dead kitsune at their feet.

“What, this bitch? She couldn’t have taken you out. But her locking your ass in a closet, yes, that I can believe,” Dean joked.

It wasn’t far off from the truth. Mrs. Monster managed to lead Sam into the gym and then locked him inside before making a mad dash towards her car where Dean had been crouched, waiting.

Sam didn’t have to say anything, Dean was already grinning at him like he read his mind.

Before Dean had the chance to tease Sam, or even wash the blood off his hands, his cell phone rang. His entire demeanor changed in less than a second. He snapped to attention, standing tall, shoulders back. Sam knew who was on the phone without having to ask. It was mostly silence on Dean’s end, listening to orders.

“Twenty-one hundred hours. Yes sir.”

Dean told Sam about the case on their drive back to the motel. A house in Mississippi, a poltergeist, and a tricky son of bitch by the sound of it. Dean was always excited when their father reappeared for even the briefest of moments in their lives, usually only because he needed backup on a case he was working.

“Gonna come with?” Dean asked.

Sam said he should stay behind and wrap up a few loose ends on their current job. Dean tried a few more times, bribing him with the chance to drive, to even pick the music, but Sam turned it down. Honestly, he just wasn’t in the mood for the days of friction around dad.

“All right, pardner,” Dean said with a bit of a Texas drawl. “Meet you back at The Saddles and Boots Motel in about five days then.”

He grinned, “And Sam…”

Sam quirked an eyebrow, “Yeah?”

“Don’t get locked in any closets while I’m gone.”

***

The motel door swung open, and there was Dean back from the hunt, two days earlier than Sam expected him. He appeared reckless and wild, blood dripping from his face as he came charging into the room. He looked more battered than Sam could remember seeing him in a long time. He stormed in without a word, threw all their stuff into the Impala without pausing—basically throwing Sam in the car too—before he peeled out of the motel’s parking lot without a glance back. He said that he just needed to drive.

“You Okay? What the hell happened? Is Dad alright?” Sam asked. Dean just sunk his foot on the gas.

Sam protested for awhile, saying Dean’s injuries needed tending to, but he only got steely silence in reply. Sam looked over the damage. They weren’t life threatening wounds, but there was a lot of blood. It leaked from the corner of his mouth, from a slice in his chin and cheek. The blood was weeping down Dean’s face, winding trails slowly down his neck and finally soaking into his once gray t-shirt. It was not an easy thing for Sam to sit by and watch, but every word Sam spoke seemed to put his brother more on edge. Dean pulled up the bottom of his shirt and wiped it across his face, trying to soak up some of the blood but mostly smearing it. Sam opened his mouth but Dean flashed him a look that said _shut up or I’ll make you shut up._

After almost an hour of Sam constantly fretting, repeating his questions, his brother finally opened his mouth and spat out _that the hunt they had been on was taken care of and yes, dad was fine, now would Sam please shut up and just let him drive_! They continued on in silence.

The wounds eventually scabbed over some, the blood drying and flaking off Dean’s neck just about the time they crossed over the Texas state line.

Every time they drove through another big city, Sam would try once again, suggesting they stop for the night, but got nothing in reply. Sam’s stomach growls were equally ignored. They didn’t stop for more than gas, which Sam got out and pumped since Dean, covered in blood and rage, looked like a bit of a serial killer. Dean maintained his fuming silence through another two states. Sam did finally manage to get his attention, however, when he could no longer sit still. He shifted in his seat constantly from the pain in his body. All 6’4 of his frame ached from being in the confined space for so long without proper breaks and stretches. When he started wincing every time they hit a bump in the road Dean finally eased up his relentless driving and a look of concern replaced the look of fury that had been there all day.

“Sorry Sammy,” he mumbled, the first words he had said in hours. He turned off the highway the first chance he could to look for a motel for the night.

Once they were in the motel room Dean continued to shut down as he always did when things were bothering him. He flopped down on the bed and let his duffle bag drop at his feet.

“It’s over,” he said, “so don’t worry your pretty head about it, Samantha.”

Sam sighed, finally resigned to that answer. He knew well enough that if Dean was starting in on the girl names he simply wasn’t going to talk about it no matter what Sam did in protest. He did finally get his brother to agree to let him tend to his damaged body. Sam helped him pull his blood soaked shirt up over his head and grimaced when he saw that Dean’s upper body matched his face in injuries. Sam got out the kit and other supplies, and then sat on the bed next to him. He washed his face so he could see the damage. The skin around Dean’s eye was swollen, as was his left ear, not to mention the cuts. His whole face just looked painful.

Sam felt guilty that he hadn’t gone along on the hunt. Maybe he could have helped, prevented this.

Dean downed whiskey all the while Sam was working on him, popping whatever pain medicine he had fished out of his duffle. They were both brooding and silent as Sam carefully cleaned up the scrapes with antiseptics and stitched him closed where he needed it. It took several stitches to close up his chin and left cheek, and Sam worked meticulously at it. Dean started to rush him along, his words beginning to slur together. Sam didn’t pay him any attention. He was going to do this slow, right, so Dean wouldn’t have scars. Once the stitching was to his satisfaction, he began applying balm to the bruises on his chest to help them heal. Dean’s breathing was a little labored as he began, maybe a bruised rib? Luckily, nothing felt broken when Sam ran his hands over the area to check.

“Sam…”

There was a strange tone to Dean’s voice that made Sam look up, his fingers still tracing along Dean’s ribs.

“Don’ bother. I’ma take a bath.” The tone was gone, the drunken slur remained. Dean stood to head to the bathroom.

He stumbled as he took the first few steps forward, then stumbled again, and Sam caught him before he made it all the way to the floor. He wasn’t sure if it was the combination of exhaustion, pills and liquor or the pain was just bad enough, but Dean let Sam help him to the bathroom. He didn’t even put up a fight as Sam got down on his knees to untie his boots and pull them off. He didn’t bellyache when he helped to peel him out of his bloody jeans, or when he took his amulet off and set it on the bathroom counter. He did however start up as Sam slung Dean’s arm around his shoulder and helped him step into the tub.

“Alright. Enough. I can bathe my damn self.”

Dean tried to drunkenly push his hands away, cuffing Sam’s ear when he ignored him. Sam was tempted to just drop his ass into the tub, but instead he eased him into the warm water slowly. He wasn’t interested in starting the fight Dean seemed to be itching for.

While Sam was kneeled at the side of the bathtub he couldn’t help but look over his brother’s chest and sides and their livid, already purple bruising. Dean must have seen the look of real concern on his face, as he shot back with an eye roll, “I’m fine,” and momentarily returned to his normal mischievous self by splashing bathwater right up into Sam’s worried face.

“Jerk!” Sam stood and wiped his eyes, but felt a little better since Dean was obviously okay enough to be acting up.

“Bitch,” Dean mumbled with almost a half smile as he let his eyes fall shut and leaned his head against the tub wall. Sam sighed and left Dean to soak in both the water and the whiskey.

The tension never left Dean that night, not while he ate the takeout Sam ordered like he was eating cardboard, not even when he finally dozed off in the bed across from him. Sam could make out the grimace that remained, hardening all his features, even in the dark.

He wished he could help, but Dean never let him get close enough to know what was going on in his life, let alone in his head. He knew that was partly his own fault, having left Dean when he went off to college, not even calling him after he was gone. They had been back on the road together for awhile, but Dean kept that distance between them now. Funny how they could practically live in each other’s back pockets and yet still hardly know one another when it came down to it. That thought made Sam sad for all new reasons. He tried to turn his mind off as he rolled over and attempted to follow his brother into sleep.

***

Over the following days with nothing but brooding silence, Sam had plenty of time to mull things over. He briefly considered calling their father, not that he’d pick up, but figured if Dean found out it would only piss him off further. He finally settled on the fact that the hunt his father and brother had been on must have gone wrong. Maybe dad had finally gotten under Dean’s skin the way he had always managed to get under Sam’s. Perhaps Dean had screwed up for once and Dad had ripped him a new one over it. Dean was always seeking their father’s approval after all, and their father was such an obsessed bastard that he hardly noticed what his careless words did to Dean. He just barked orders and expected perfection. It was a likely scenario.

But this had to be on another level. Something major must have gone down on the hunt, as Dean was downright scary with the anger that was rolling off him. Not to mention the amount of hunter’s helper he was throwing back started to reach alarming levels. He was at a consistent level of drunk for days.

It didn’t ease up for weeks. Dean would suddenly claim he hated the motel they were in, or that he wanted food from a place five towns over so they might as well switch where they were staying. Sometimes he simply said he needed to drive. Sam didn’t resist the moving about as it seemed to calm Dean down, so he’d just pack his duffel and follow. It kept up like that all the while Dean was healing, and it didn’t seem to get better until they finally found a new case to head out to. Sam was worried, but Dean just insisted they hit the road and follow up on a lead Bobby had told them about that pointed to something nasty happening in the town of Broken Bow, Nebraska. People were vanishing from their beds in the middle of the night. Dean hadn’t been a hundred percent yet but Sam let him talk him into it anyway. He shouldn’t have. He knew something was off with Dean and that both their heads wouldn’t be in it.

One unnatural fiend put down in Nebraska later and Dean seemed to improve.

Something felt off to Sam, but after the hunt life had carried on for a day or two better than normal, so he decided not to question things. It was all Dean, cheeseburgers, and shared laughs. In fact, they talked and joked with ease and Sam felt closer to Dean than he had in, well, years actually. Dean was even talking about taking a break, maybe a vacation. They talked about all the places they’d like to see, Dean nixing the idea of Hawaii because it involved a plane ride, but agreeing that a stay near the beaches in California would be nice.

Sam figured Dean just needed to blow off steam, which the hunt had helped with, and left it at that. That was until Bobby showed up at a seriously inopportune time...

***

Dean was out on another dinner run. Sam was alone and had stumbled upon the skin channel just as it announced, “Up Next, Casa Erotica Four”. He figured he had enough time before Dean got back to… release some tensions. He watched the show for awhile from the corner of the bed, then leaned back and stretched out, unzipping his jeans and pulling them down to his thighs. He ran a hand up his semi-interested shaft and looked back at the show.

Bobby’s shocked face was not the next thing Sam had expected to see during his private happy alone time!

The older hunter had suddenly appeared at the foot of the bed, between Sam and the TV. Sam squawked and bolted off the motel bed using one hand to try to cover himself while the other was wrestling to get his jeans back up. Bobby diverted his eyes.

Before he could ask what the hell was happening, how Bobby had just appeared out of thin air in the motel room, Bobby hollered out “Boy! Can’t you tell what is reality and what is a damn dream after last time you were poking around in _my_ noggin?”

Sam stared at him for a moment, still zipping up, not getting it. Bobby said plainly that Sam was in his own head dreaming, and if he wouldn’t mind waking the hell up now, that would be just great.

They went on the hunt but hadn’t put down the monster—it had put _them_ down. Sam was under some spell, asleep.

When he and Dean had followed the lead into the small Nebraskan town and heard about the vanishing townsfolk and the way the doors were all locked from the inside, their first thought had been malevolent sprit. They soon got a look at a few of the bodies in the morgue that had been discovered dumped at the Broken Bow Township Cemetery. The bodies were all ripped into and half eaten, and the coroner’s official report said animal attack. Sam and Dean however figured they were dealing with a particularly nasty but smart ghoul. When they busted into the cave that they finally tracked the beast to, and saw the victims strung up still alive but knocked out cold, they figured that it must have been a Djinn instead. Okay, they honestly had no fucking idea what the thing was.

Before they had a chance to form a plan B or C or D, or just get the hell out of there, the unknown monster came at them from the darkness. They both got in plenty of well aimed shots, silver bullets, rock salt, and Dean even whipped a knife at the massive shadowy figure. But the thing didn’t slow.

It turned out it wasn’t a ghost, ghoul or Djinn, but as Bobby had told him, it was a Sandman. Which would explain the freaking dirt it had thrown at Sam’s face at the time!

Everything had been a dream inside Sam’s head, ever since they entered the cave in Nebraska. He was mad with himself that he hadn’t realized it, hadn’t figured it out. That would also explain why Dean suddenly seemed so pleasant, because it wasn’t really Dean. Sam had dreamed up a fake, happier brother. And didn’t Sam just need another giant heap of guilt in his life?

Sandmen were beyond rare, many hunters even thought them extinct, and just like most other “nice” storybook creatures they were evil as all hell. They would put their victims to sleep using a mix of ancient herbs, sands obtained from very particular areas of desert, and old magic. They tossed the mix into the eyes of their victims which would send them right into a deep and almost impossible-to-wake-from sleep. The Sandman would feed off them slowly by entering into their minds. Like a grey matter happy meal.

First, they would feed on their victim’s dopamine by inducing pleasant happy dreams, sometimes even getting some oxytocin, the love hormone, if it could induce erotic visions in their head. Eventually it would cause the most horrific nightmares it could draw from its victim’s subconscious, haunting them with whatever secrets or fears they had locked away. It would thus switch to feeding off the norepinephrine, a kind of adrenaline.

When the victim finally began to die, usually of a heart attack from fear but sometimes simply from giving up, the Sandman would rip out their eyes officially severing the link. Then it would set about gnawing on any parts of the body that looked particularly tasty, sometimes while the person was still crying out their last dying screams.

After some hard concentration and a few spell breaking chants Bobby had quickly taught him, Sam managed to wake himself from the forced sleep. He opened his eyes to the darkness of the cave. Once he was fully awake it was obvious to see that reality felt nothing like that dream. It was sharper, more real. He still sat in the darkness and pinched himself a few times to make himself feel better. He waited as Bobby had instructed, listening, trying to keep calm, waiting for them to make their way inside the cave to find him.

“Dean,” Sam whispered into the darkness but got no reply.

After what felt like forever waiting alone in the dark, he saw lights coming toward him. “Here,” he said just loud enough that they would hear him. Bobby and four other hunters he didn’t recognize were at his side and all of them wearing gasmasks. He could see as the flashlights danced over him that he had been lying amongst several other “frozen dinners”—people that would need woken up when everything was over.

Looking through all the sleeping bodies he realized Dean was nowhere in sight, and fear raced through him. “Dean’s alive,” Bobby said knowing what Sam’s first thoughts would be once he was back to reality. “But I couldn’t get into his head to wake him up, so he is still out cold somewhere.” Sam stood up, letting that news and the accompanying adrenaline move his sore, stiff body into action. There would be plenty of time to be scared shitless later. Right now, there was a monster that seriously needed its ass kicked.

Bobby quickly introduced the other hunters and filled Sam in on the plan. He handed him the weapon of choice: an Ojo de Dios, roughly similar to a dream catcher in appearance, but one that had been sanctified in blood and attached to the end of the handle of a very sharp blade. Luckily, Bobby just happened to have a few because as he said, “Hello, Bobby Singer, paranoid bastard.” Bobby slipped a gasmask over Sam’s head to protect him from getting another shot of sand to the face, and clipped a flashlight to his shirt, which he flicked on. The six hunters made their way further into the cave to face the Sandman.

It didn’t take them long to find it. They rounded a corner and walked into the biggest cavern they’d seen so far, and there it just sat dead center, crouching on the floor facing away from them, chanting. There were lit candles and alters around the massive cavern, and the unmistakable smell of death was thick in the air. The second Sam took a step forward the Sandman turned towards them. The flashlight beams bounced off of its dark form as it rose up to its full towering height. It seemed to float away from the floor as it moved, its tattered black clothing and long hair seemed to wave out from it and towards the group of hunters, as if immune to gravity. It was much too large to be a normal man even though its face was eerily human. It pointed at Sam with a long, sharp talon-like finger on the ends of which several human eyes were speared.

Its voice sounded straight out of nightmares, guttural and deep with a wet rasp at the end of each word as it said, “Only the dead trespass here, hunter.”


	4. It's Just the Beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another chapter already because my ghostly muse is trying to make me type myself to death...

  
Bobby held the Ojo de Dios out in front of himself as the hunters circled in on the beast.

“I should have killed you quickly,” the sandman reflected, “But his eyes are the most sublime I’ve ever seen…the darkness behind them just beautiful.”

Sam had no doubt the monster was talking about Dean and it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He walked forward straight at the beast with the other hunters following his lead. Bobby stood behind them and started the chant, “Jam tibi impero et præcipio maligne spiritus! E tenebris, Terra es, terram ibis…”

The Sandman shrieked, its deathly pale face contorting in agony and the ground began to shake under their feet.

“You dare try to bind _me_?”

Sam swallowed hard, throwing a glance at Bobby, but the old hunter didn’t even pause. He just recited the next line in the chant. Suddenly, the dirt from the floor of the cave started rising, floating, swirling as the room rumbled on. The sand began to move faster, whipping up in great torrents until a sandstorm formed around them.

Bobby got out the next line of the chant, hollered it above the thundering noise, as two of the men they were with went running in toward the monster from both sides. The Sandman swung to face them, throwing up its arms, while the sand in the room obeyed its command and flew at them. The sand pummeled them backwards until they were kneeled to the floor.

“Ecce quomodo Moritur!” Bobby continued chanting and the Sandman howled. The monster raised his arms toward the ceiling, alerting Sam on what it was planning to do. He charged in its direction, battling the rage of sands, hoping to make it in time. He got just close enough as the thick wall of sand went up, sealing around them both completely, from cavern floor to ceiling. The wall of sand effectively blocked everything and everyone else on the other side, including the final line of the binding spell. It was just Sam and the monster now.

The Sandman let out a growl, holding up its hands, and sending sand whipping at Sam. It stung his skin as it pushed him back, forcing him against the wall of earth behind him, pushing so hard he began to sink back into it like it was quicksand. The sand swirled continuously around the mask he was wearing, trying to find a way in. Sam fought and pulled himself out off the wall, straining and battling for each inch of progress. The Sandman struck his fist forward, and the sand balled up tight and battered against Sam’s body so hard it knocked the wind out of him and drove him to his knees.

He tried to pull himself up before he even had his breath back but the sand pressed heavy on him, keeping him bowed. He gasped in a breath as his air returned, except instead of air he huffed in a big lung full of herb scented sand. He saw the tiny crack in his mask the sand was coming through, grain-by-grain, filling up the bottom of his mask as he sputtered and coughed. The monster drew a symbol in the air with his bloody talons, which formed solid in sand and hovered above them both.

“Pulvis et umbra sumus! Dormite, hostes mei, ubi statis!” The netherworld voice called out and the symbol glowed red, “A slumber so deep you’ll never wake!”

Sam felt sleep surge up and grip him then. Darkness was pulling him under. His eyelids began to fall with the monster’s sleep spell upon him. The last thing he saw before his eyes fell shut were the rows of sand-made spikes that were forming above him. The monster crowed in victory.

And Sam thought of Dean.

Sam raised up the Ojo de Dios he was still clutching, his eyes closed, and coughed out the final line of the binding spell, “Hoc sustinate Damnosa hereditas.”

The beast let out a bloodcurdling scream and the spikes above fell, quickly turning back into regular sand, raining down on the fallen Winchester. The Sandman was bound to him, his magic useless. Sam coughed, recovering his breath as he rose to his feet. The creature’s pale glowing eyes were on him as he stalked closer.

“I own your ass!” Sam spat.

The Sandman sneered but made no other movements, still towering over him.

“Is Dean still alive?”

“Yeees,” The monster seethed against his will.

“How many people besides the hunters are still alive in these caves?”

“Seventeen.”

Taken aback by that number, how many victims the Sandman had been torturing, made his anger flare.

“Wait!” it implored as Sam took a step closer to it, “I’ve seen inside his head, his dreams, down into all those black places where he hides his miseries. I know what you want to know.”

Sam paused mid step.

“If you only...”

But he didn’t make deals.

“Time for you to sleep.” He swung his arm forward and got in the one and only blow with the blade before the monstrosity had a chance to say another word, lopping its head clean off in one smooth strike. He had done it quickly and the thing collapsed before it had a chance to cry out. Blood sprayed from its body as it sunk down, mixing with the sand at its feet forming a pool of crimson mud. The wall of sand crashed down behind him as the monster’s body dropped, and he could hear Bobby and the others calling out and running towards him. Lights danced over the room as they got closer.

Then Sam saw Dean. He was laid out on a low alter, half buried under sand at the feet of the creature’s now headless slumped body. Sam wasn’t a violent person by nature, but he hoped to god that the Sandman felt a little pain before it died.

Sam dropped his mask on the ground and knelt beside his brother pulling him into his arms, sand falling off him like a blanket.

Dean’s pulse was steady under Sam’s fingers. He was alive, though he looked pallid and feverish. Sam chanted the spell into his brother’s ear that Bobby had told him should wake him. He said it might not work, but Dean wouldn’t refuse Sam. On the second try with the chant, he stirred and gasped as he opened his eyes wide locking immediately on to Sam’s. He grabbed onto his shoulder and pulled him close.

“You’re safe,” he said a puff of sand coming out with his raw voice.

“I’m safe, you’re safe,” Sam repeated. He wiped as much sand off his brother as he could, a cloud of it drifting off when he patted his hair.

Dean pulled him in so close then that their noses were almost touching, “Don’t come after me, Sam.” He looked at Sam as if the message made perfect sense. “Don’t come…you have to leave me…” his voice trailed off as his eyes began falling back into the shadows of dreams. Dean began murmuring strangely under his breath and went limp in Sam’s arms. “Dean? Dean!” he called shaking him, but got no response.

“What the hell was that?” Sam said, looking up over his shoulder at Bobby. But the older hunter shrugged and shook his head. Sam tried the chants again, but Dean stayed asleep this time. Sam didn’t know what else to do, so picked Dean up and slowly made it to his feet. The other hunters offered their help, suggesting Sam should take it easy for a while, but he refused.

“The thing said there were seventeen people still alive in here, a lot of them may be waking up now. They will be scared and confused. You guys have to find them all, get them out of here safely,” he said, setting them to their task.

He made the long walk back to Bobby’s truck, his legs shaking from exhaustion and the weight of his brother in his arms. He slid Dean into the seat of Bobby’s blue tow truck, then climbed in and sat next to him. He slung an arm around Dean, and let his brother’s head rest against him.

Bobby had gone back in to ensure that the monster’s body was burned because Sam insisted on knowing it was done. Exhaustion finally caught up to him, so he waited and held on to Dean. He watched as many of the victims were ushered outside. He counted them as they came out, eleven so far. There were men, women, even children. Some of them were clinging to their loved ones, some of them were barely clinging to life.

One particular woman approached Bobby’s truck, her arms slung around the dazed pale body of a dark-haired woman in her mid-twenties . Sam opened the door to see what he could do to help, but didn’t move as he was still tightly holding on to Dean.

“They said you killed it,” she said weakly.

Sam nodded.

She leaned forward into the truck, still holding up the other woman, and kissed Sam on the cheek.

“Thank you,” she said, the tears welling up in her eyes.

Sam rarely had people thank him. A stunned smile was his only response.

“This is my sister,” she said, motioning to the other woman who didn’t look up.

From a quick glance, Sam couldn’t see any wounds on the outside. But he knew that didn’t mean there weren’t some gaping emotional ones inside. They both shared a sad smile, knowing that things were far from over, but at least it was good to be alive for today. The other woman suddenly raised her head up and met Sam’s gaze, appearing strangely familiar to him. For a fleeting moment, Sam thought they might have known each other in a past life.

She swiftly pulled away from her sister, throwing her arms around Sam’s neck and giving him an earnest hug. She whispered rapid thank yous in his ear. He put an arm around her quivering shoulder, “It’s gonna be okay,” He assured her.

“Come on, Juliane,” The other woman said leading her sister away, towards the cars that would take them back into town.

Seventeen people would live, people who would have died if the hunters hadn’t come. The smell of smoke drifted through the air. Sam took a deep breath and tried to enjoy the victory but it was a bittersweet win, his concern for Dean overshadowing everything.

***

It was a five hour drive back to Bobby’s house, so they had plenty of time to talk. Dean was still unconscious. They briefly discussed taking him to a hospital, but they both felt it wouldn’t be much use. Outside of a gushing wound, when had doctors ever helped anyway? It would only make it harder to try out their other, less conventional, options.

Bobby told him about everything that lead up to him waking up in the cave. Said that when they had failed to check in, and wouldn’t answer his calls, he knew things had gone wrong and that he ought to get to town as quick as he could. He had picked up the trail of them half a day in. After looking over the boy’s research left back at the hotel, he realized pretty quickly what he was dealing with. There were signs that it had been a Sandman to start with, like the fact that the eyes had been missing from every single corpse, or the fact that the town was directly next to the famous Sand Hills of Nebraska.

If Dean hadn’t been so distracted and Sam so concerned about him, they probably would have picked up on it sooner and avoided this whole mess.

Once Bobby knew what he was dealing with he knew how to reach the boys. He called in a few favors for some of the other hunters to join him knowing he’d need help. He hadn’t wanted to risk them both by trying to take the Sandman out first. He thought it would be wiser if they were awake for the action, in the very least so they wouldn’t be in the way and getting themselves killed. He used the last bit of African dream root that Bella had given them, and he had managed to get into Sam’s head to help wake him up.

“I tried Dean first actually,” Bobby confessed, “But it was like a locked cage. I couldn’t get it to spring and let me in for the life of me.” Then Bobby shook his head, “It’s just… the thing is dead. If that was what was preventing me from getting in, Dean should have come out of it when you took its head off. All the other folks woke up, walked outta there.”

Sam just nodded and tried to push the negative thoughts out of his mind for the time being. Dean had to be ok, it couldn’t end like this.

Sam tended to Dean and settled him in as comfortably as he could make him. He researched until the words on his computer screen blurred and his hands were shaky from the caffeine. Nothing turned up on why Dean wasn’t waking. None of the lore about Sandmen pointed to any logical answers on why he was still in comaland. They tried all the chants Bobby had found repeatedly. They even tried out any others that were even remotely related to breaking sleep spells. They didn’t get more than some slight eye movement under Dean’s closed lids in response.

The only other option was to keep trying to get into his mind for a little dreamwalking. It took another day of researching and then a lot of bargaining with some fairly shady people, but eventually more African dream root was on its way. It didn’t arrive for two days, and that had given Sam plenty of time to fret. He worried because Dean had told him not to follow. What would he do if the dream root didn’t work? If Dean’s mind kept him out like it had Bobby? He hardly slept, keeping vigil over Dean, having one sided conversations throughout the night.

“Don’t do this to me Dean, you let me in, ok? You let me in.”

***

“You sure about this?” Bobby asked holding the jar full of root the following day. “We have no idea what's happening or what is crawling around in your brother’s head, there may be a reason he said not to follow him in.”

“It’s Dean, Bobby. He’d come for me.”   
Bobby sighed. “Okay then.” He knew better then to stand in the way of the brothers. There was no talking those two fools outta’ anything when it came to what they were willing to do for one another.

“When I took my stroll through your head, the combo of dream root and sandman mojo was pretty powerful. I told the fellas’ I was with if I hadn’t come out in fifteen minutes, to start up the chants to break the sandman spell. That is what they ended up having to do. I couldn’t get myself back awake. That means you won’t be able to wake yourself up from the inside either, I’ll have to do it from out here. Dean should be able to wake up with just the chants being said from inside hopefully, so if I see Dean wake up of course I’ll just pull you out then too. But, if for some reason he don’t…”

“He will,” Sam said resolutely.

“Ok son, how long you want me to leave you under for?”

“As long as possible.”

Bobby advised Sam to sleep first before he went inside Dean’s head, that it would make his mind too slow on the uptake if he wasn’t well rested himself. But it had been three days since Dean had closed his eyes, and Sam had to do this now. He cut a few hairs from Dean’s head as was required for the stuff to work, and put them in his mouth. He chased it with the foul root tea.

But there it was, that explained the fuzzy logic, the confusion when he first opened his eyes and found himself inside Dean’s mind.

He could almost hear Bobby muttering choice phrases at him for not listening...

 

 

To be Continued…


	5. Under Your Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **THEN:**
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser of people getting tortured by an unseen force--> Sam wakes confused, Dean tells him he is inside his head, and he needs to get out--> Retelling of the events that transpired previously --> Sam and Dean killing a Kitsun, Dean leaves to help their father, returns injured and angry--> The boys head to Nebraska to fight evil--> Sam thinks they killed it, Bobby appears and tells Sam they didn’t kill it, he is under a spell dreaming--> Sam wakes up, kicks some Sandman ass, saves the day--> Everyone else woke up, but Dean is still asleep and they don’t know why--> Sam takes some dream root, and ventures into Dean’s head to find out…
> 
>  
> 
> **NOW:**  
> 

  
“D _eee_ an,” Sam groaned when he pushed him through yet another door. It was another memory of a day in the family business. Dean let out a satisfied grunt as he sank his blade into the neck of a Nāga, a humanoid-snake creature. He was pulling a dazed but not harmed little girl out of the monster’s nest a moment later, and she wrapped herself around Dean’s neck. The memory jumped and he was placing her back into the arms of her tearful, joyful mother. Those were the good hunts, the ones that made it worth it.

Once Sam had remembered why he was in Dean’s head he explained that he couldn’t leave until Bobby pulled him out at a set time with a chant. Dean was up and pushing them through endless doors, claiming they weren’t safe if they sat around too long. He was hiding them both in what he deemed “safe places”, memories where he felt he had control. Sam told him about the chants, how they woke him up easily before and that they might wake him up too if he’d just try them. Dean just shook his head and kept them moving.

“Dude, come on, stop dragging me around for five seconds and talk to me. I mean, you do understand this is all a dream?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. I’m the one that told you not to follow me in, genius.” He tugged Sam along.

“Do you remember what happened? How we got here?” Sam was trying to make sure Dean wasn’t suffering from a lack of dopamine or an abundance of adrenaline or other side effects of the Sandman.

“Yeah. A unicorn stabbed me in the ass.” Dean kept a completely straight face and then busted out laughing when Sam shot him a worried look. “Sandman, okay? Hell Sam, I’m not crazy.”

Sam ruled that out as the cause of his brother’s behavior. “Tell me why you won’t even try the chants?” Sam was already worried about the time. After all, time inside one’s mind might move entirely different than it did in the waking world.

“Just trust me. You just gotta let me sleep.” He didn’t elaborate. He never did these days.

They approached another wall and Dean scanned the row of doors standing before them. He was trying to decide where to head next. Or in actuality, what to think of next. Sam was finally clear headed, but still found the whole concept of being inside Dean’s head, uh, mind bending.

The memories were mostly of Dean winning money, killing evil things, and hitting on women. All things Sam was well familiar with. Occasionally they would drift into a fantasy too, mostly involving Asian cartoons. Sam rolled his eyes and laughed. He always assumed half of Dean’s head was porn. Sometimes they would venture into actual dreams, which could get pretty surreal. At one point he watched Dean sending the world’s most giant slinky down the world’s most giant stairs, only at the end to see that Dean himself was the slinky. He was sure Freud would have loved to analyze that one.

A lot of the memories behind the doors were of Sam though, usually when Sam had been in awe of Dean for something or another. Some of Dean’s points of view of him were rather perturbing. Did Sam really slouch that much? Oh god, did he really look like that when he was mad? And ok, maybe Dean was right that he could use a haircut too…

“Come on, help me out here.” Sam let himself get dragged towards another door.

“You shouldn’t have come, Sam. You have to let me sleep.”

Let him sleep, let him sleep! That was all Dean kept saying and Sam was losing his patience.

He smacked Dean in the back of the head, and without missing a beat his brother turned around and punched him in the shoulder.

“Talk to me, Dean!”

Sam found himself in a headlock, getting noogied through the next door.

The memory they walked into next was of the two of them sparring in their younger days. Memory Dean pinned Memory Sam onto his back, Sam eventually getting free but only to be pinned a moment later onto his belly. “Give?” Dean asked. Sam wiggled but Dean just pressed down into him harder, keeping him pinned.

“Of course, you wouldn’t play one where I was kicking your ass,” Real Sam defended himself.

“Sorry, I have no memories of you _ever_ kicking my ass,” Dean cracked back.

“We can make one right now if you’d like. Need me to break a wrist before you finally try one of the chants?” He made a swipe for Dean’s arm, but Dean took several steps back, nearly tripping over Memory Sam and Dean as they were once again wrestling on the floor.

Real Sam lunged at him and pushed him down until he was awkwardly sprawled between the Sams. Top Sam pinned both his arms down. Bottom Sam, forgetting all about his memory sparring, suddenly gripped him around the middle. He wrapped his legs over Dean’s legs, forcing them to spread until they too were pinned to the floor. Sam and Sam. A Sam sandwich.

"Are you going to cooperate now?" Sam smiled and said the first two words of the chant for Dean to repeat.

The lights in Dean’s head flickered, and they both looked at each other.

“Get the hell off me, ginormo!” We are spending too much time–”

The temperature in the room shot up to sweltering. Dean shoved Sam off of him, the both of them getting to their feet just as the light went out completely, plunging the room into darkness.

Before Sam was able to make a crack about Dean not having any bright ideas left, the sound of a door opening and a bemused laugh echoed out around them. It had a twinge of Dean’s voice but there was no humor to it, just the gravel and smoke. It sneered right up against Sam in the dark, tickling his ear with warm breath as it whispered out his name. Dean found Sam in the pitch-blackness and grabbed him by the hand and they bolted through another door.

They went flying through dozens of doors, the random flashes of memories almost making Sam dizzy. He saw so many versions of himself in those flashes he started to feel like he was starring in a Sam version of “Being John Malkovich”.

The flashes finally stopped, and they were once again in the car. Dean’s safest place it seemed. He turned the key and the Impala roared to life. Within an instant, they were flying down some no name backcountry road.

Sam shot off his list of rapid fire concerns. “The thing that is chasing you, is it part of the Sandman from the last hunt? Did he do something to you, say something to keep you in here? Is it a spell?”

Dean just shrugged, turning his attention to the radio. The music was turned up, blasting Metallica.

♪♬ … _Tuck you in, warm within, keep you free from sin, till_... ♫♩

“Come on, if we know what it is then we can find a way to kill it.”

“You can’t kill it, Sam.”

“How do you know?”

“Look, I know this is hard for you to understand. You’re just gonna have to trust me.”

Sam frowned. He always disliked it when Dean got like this, evasive, never clueing him in. He was growing more like that all the time now. “You sound just like Dad when you say that. I hate it even more coming from you.”

Sam was considering all the possibilities. Perhaps the thing had somehow created a link into his brother’s head and stayed there, and was haunting him. Maybe he had cursed Dean and he was somehow afraid for Sam’s safety, which was a very Dean-like concern. But they had killed it. Sam killed it and watched it die. Bobby burned the body himself. How could anything be lingering? Sam had read the Sandman lore, poured through everything he could find over the three days he was waiting to get into Dean’s head. There wasn’t anything that said the Sandman could stay in the victim’s mind once its body was destroyed.

He leaned up and turned the music down as he always did when they were driving, an unconscious habit. Dean leaned over and turned it back up. Sam turned it down, Dean turned it back up again. Sam turned it down then grabbed the knob and broke it off.

Dean flipped out for a second before remembering they were in his head. “You better be happy this isn’t my actual Baby, or I’d pull over and kick your ass.”

“Be serious for a minute! I can help you. Whatever it is we can fight it together.”

“I don’t think so, Sammy.”

“Please talk to me. Or if not, let’s just try the chants Bobby gave me. See if you can wake up?”

“I’m not going to keep saying it. I can’t wake up. You have to leave me here.”

“I won’t just leave you like this!”

“You do realize we could be using this time on something actually useful, like you know, saying goodbye? Not that you were ever big on those. Usually when you’d go you just up and–”

“I’m not saying goodbye, Dean, because this isn’t how it ends.” Sam interrupted him folding his arms across his chest, frowning. He knew he looked like a giant defiant twelve-year-old when he did that now, but he didn’t care.

“I know this sucks. I’ve had time to think this over. It is going to suck for me a lot more then it is for you. But you are going to have to learn to live with it because there aren’t any other options. So dump my body in some state hospital where the nurses are hot, and just let it be.”

“I’m not going to do that!”

“Yes, you will little brother, eventually. Bobby is going to pull you out of my head. You’ll realize there isn’t a way back in, and when my body starts to get ripe, you’ll dump it,” he said with a joking tone in his voice.

“Screw you, Dean.” Sam was officially pissed off. “For not even trying, for not even attempting to tell me what the hell is going on. You know if it was the other way around there is no way you’d be okay with this.”

Neither spoke for awhile. Sam huffed a breath through his nose.

“Yeah. All right, well, I get you’re mad at me,” Dean said finally. “But while I still have the time I…I just wanted to say, you know, to take care of yourself, okay? ‘Cause I’m not gonna’ be there to watch out for your sorry ass anymore. So just promise me you’ll be careful. You’ll stay safe. And if you decide to keep hunting, find a good partner. Or go back to college, Sam. Try for the apple-pie life again.” He chewed his bottom lip, and shook his head, like he was internally saying no to the chick flick moments that were welling up.

“And you better take care of my car, too,” He patted the steering wheel, “or I’ll Freddy Kruger your ass!”

“That’s not funny.”

“Oh come on, it's a little funny.”

Sam said nothing in reply, just sent a bitch face his way.

“Well, you might not like it, but this is the way it is, and I’m saying goodbye. So, bye Sam.”

There was silence between them again. Both of them stared straight ahead, lost to their own thoughts. The only sound was the quiet radio playing on undeterred.

♫♪ … _Never mind that noise you heard, it’s just the beast under your bed, in your closet, in your head_ … ♫♪♬

Dean frowned at the song, and there was a quiet little chuckle from the back seat. He pushed the pouting Sam out of the Impala and through another door before he noticed.

There were very few dreams or fantasies showing up any more. It was mostly memories behind every door they went through, and mostly of their younger days.

Now they were in a memory of some random time of the million times Dean had driven Sam to school. Sam could see the two of them sitting in the car a short distance off, talking. He couldn’t remember for the life of him why this day would have stuck out in Dean’s mind.

“Why can’t we try it, why won’t you even try? You have to tell me something more. You can’t just leave it like this and expect me to just accept it.” Sam said for what felt like the hundredth time already.

Dean was looking all dopey and smiley as he watched the memory them sitting in the Impala, ignoring the real Sam’s questions. Young memory Sam had just opened the car door and jumped out heading for the school.

“That was the last time you...” Dean trailed off. His features darkened as he moved away.

Sam turned back at the memory, trying to see what had had that effect on Dean but still couldn’t place the day.

The next memory was of their father telling him he could have his old leather jacket, and Dean standing in front of the mirror, totally preening. Sam laughed but then turned serious again.

“Speaking of which, Dad is going to be pissed to hear about you going down without a fight.” Sam knew it was a low blow, but nothing else was working. He figured he had to start pushing some of Dean’s buttons.

They went through the next door.

The memory was of the three of them sitting out by a lake after a hunt, watching the sunset. Sam remembered this day too, it was peaceful. Their father clapped Dean on the back and handed him a beer, his way of saying he was proud of what Dean accomplished that day. The next doors were more of the same.

“Good job, real good,” John said as a young Dean bulls-eyed every one of the targets during practice. If Dean’s smile of pride could have been any bigger it would have broken his face in two.

Despite the fact these were good memories, real Dean seemed to be growing agitated. Sam hoped it was because Dean didn’t want to disappoint their father, that maybe he’d start to be reasonable now and talk to him. He closed his eyes for a long minute at the next door before opening it.

Dean suddenly looked all of 10 years old. Literally. He tilted his head way up looking at Sam, his green eyes darting around his face as if he didn’t recognize him. He ran past Sam, and fell into pace walking with a younger Bobby. Sam followed behind them a bit stunned.

“Where we goin’?” young Dean asked Bobby as he was looking around at the crowds pouring into the big building in front of them.

“Basketball game, Dallas Mavericks.”

Dean’s eyes got huge and his mouth turned into an excited smile at Bobby’s words. Bobby’s grin was nearly as big as the boy’s, and he hugged an arm around his shoulder. Dean’s lips turned down again as he began to worry.

“Dad said I was supposed to do target practice today. He was pretty pissed last time we didn’t...” Dean said looking away from Bobby.

“Did he get mad at you?” He asked.

“No,” Dean said shaking his head, “but he sure got to yelling at you.”

Bobby sighed and patted Dean’s shoulder. “Yeah, well I can take it. Listen kiddo, your dad is trying his hardest, but he don't realize what he is doing to y…” He trailed off with a huff. “Sometimes you just have to do things, if you feel they are the right things to do. Some days the whole world will be telling you one thing, and deep in your gut you’ll know you should be doing another. Always listen to that voice inside that is telling ya’ what is right.”

Dean just looked at him for a long minute, thinking it over.

“Right now, my gut is saying that me and you, we could really use a day off.”

Dean kicked his shoe against the pavement, hesitating.

“They have foot long hot dogs, soft pretzels…” Bobby changed the subject and Dean licked his lips. “Soda, pizza, nachos… and I’m buyin’.” Bobby sent a wink down at Dean and they didn’t discuss it further.

Dean was cheering for his new favorite team, a foam finger on one hand and a hot dog he was stuffing into his mouth in the other. He looked to all the world like the happiest kid there ever was. Sam smiled as he stood behind them on the stairs of the stadium watching the memory.

“Come on Dean,” he said quietly after awhile, and the young boy glanced over his shoulder at him, mustard still on his face. An instant later full grown Dean was standing by his side again looking sheepish.

“Bobby is right you know. Sometimes you have to do things just because you feel they are the right thing to do.”

“And why is _this_ the right thing to do?” Sam asked, gesturing around them.

Dean shrugged, avoiding Sam’s glare.

“Bull. The right thing is why I’m here, is why I’m not going to give up until you wake up. Come on Dean, please try?” Sam said, but Dean just made more doors appear. “I can protect myself, if that is what you are worried about. Just stop, let me help. Please?” Sam shot him the most puppy dog look of all puppy dog looks.

Dean almost always gave in whenever he was on the receiving end of one of those pathetic sad-eyed stares that Sam had perfected through the years. He was obviously trying his best to ignore it as he opened one of the three doors in front of him.

The memory they stepped into next was of their younger days too, seriously younger, as a pudgy Sam at about 4 years old came running up to the two of them all excited. He watched as Memory Sam grabbed real Dean’s hand and pulled.

“Come on Dee! You pwomised!” he said with the baby puppy eyes staring up at his big brother.

Dean let himself get tugged away. Big moose Sam followed them a few paces behind. When they reached the bedroom, young Sam bolted for the bed, pulled up the covers and then held out a book in his chubby little hands. “The Story of Babar” was written across the front.

Sam remembered then, making Dean read it to him over and over again. The soft look that spread out on his brother’s face made Sam suddenly feel like he hadn’t really seen Dean in years. These were his brother’s happy memories, his safe places. Most of them were silly little moments Sam had forgotten all about. This was a tender soft side of Dean that he kept hidden most of the time, a side of him no one really got to see. Hardly even Sam any more.

Dean sat down on the edge of the bed. “You brush your teeth, Sammy?” he actually asked, and young Sam leaned up and blew his minty breath at his brother. Dean opened the book with a smile. “In the great forest a little elephant is born. His name is Babar,” he began and young Sam clapped his hands and kicked his little feet under the blankets.

“Seriously dude, we do not have time for bedtime stories,” Sam broke in.

The young him stuck his tongue out at older Sam and Dean sighed gloomily and closed the book.

“We don’t need sleep, we need to wake up!” Sam almost laughed when he realized he was yelling at his own mini-self, and then turned it back to Dean. “Just tell me why aren’t you even trying? Just explain it to me. Explain something to me. Anything?”

Dean leaned forward and ruffled the young Sam’s hair then stood up from the bed. He shoved current day Sam roughly towards another door.

“Answer my question!” Sam yelled, becoming more exasperated with the time they were losing as Dean moved him along. He struggled, trying to pull free of his brother’s grasp around his arm. But Sam realized that Dean was stronger than he was while they were inside his mind. It was like Sam himself was a little kid again, getting dragged around by the impossibly bigger, stronger Dean.

How can you care so little about yourself?” He continued pulling against Dean’s grasp. “So little that you won’t even try?”

“I am, Sam! I’m trying to keep you safe. Keep us both alive. This is the only way.”

Dean yanked open yet another door and pulled them both towards it.

“Hey look at me! LOOK at me!” Sam tried to get him to slow down, to look at him, to talk it over, but Dean just pulled him through the door behind him.

The door changed color just as they went through, its exterior turning a dark foreboding gray. Something sinister had been triggered. Dean looked like he was going to be sick, his face flashing back to the wild trapped animal expression. There was nothing he could to do to hold it back.

 _“I’ve seen down into all those black places where he hides his miseries.”_ The words the Sandman had spoken before he died echoed in Sam’s mind.

He braced himself.

 

To be Continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ps- none of the photos belong to me, I am just borrowing them for fun ;)


	6. In Your

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to break this in half. Kinda like Dean’s head. More soon. With feedback I'll try for sooner :)

A young adolescent Dean stormed past them both from the darkness. He looked just as sick and frantic as current Dean.

Everything that lay beyond the gray door was in shadows. It slowly grew lighter around them until Sam could see they were standing in an alley behind an old generic diner in an old generic town.

 _“Why don’t you smile for me?”_ The voice said in a country-thick accent.

“No, no, no!” Current Dean pulled Sam hard turning him away from the memory before them. But not before Sam saw the truth. Young Dean pushed up against a car, some greasy guy on his knees with his paws all over Dean’s belt, a thick wad of cash pushed into his far too young hands. Dean let his jeans fall and mentally checked out of the scene. Sam closed his eyes and joined Dean in his repetitions of ‘no.’

 _“Look at me. Look at me! Yeah, that’s it. That’s nice. Now smile,”_ the stranger’s horrible voice cooed.

The sudden knowledge, the horror of it, pounded through Sam. _How the hell could he not have known?_ This was long before Dean was old enough to enter bars for pool hustling, before he had become a skilled poker player, and before he mastered the money scams his father taught him. Dad would sometimes be gone for weeks beyond when he said he’d return, the money vanishing too fast… and yet there was always food. Sam had never gone hungry. They never got kicked out of the place they were staying. And just like that, Sam knew. _Gotta protect Sammy._ Dean was selling the only thing he had left.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Where the hell was dad? Or Jim or Bobby? I should have known, I could’ve, I could’ve–”

“Don’t,” Dean barely managed to find enough voice to say it.

Sam opened his eyes and looked at him. He saw shame, anger and disgust in Dean’s eyes before they darted away to look anywhere but at Sam. He knew Dean was sending all those vicious feelings inwards at himself instead of at the people it really should have been directed at.

Sam hated the nameless man, his father, himself, _the entire fucking world_ for ever allowing something like that happen to someone as kind and good as his brother. His rage flared so intense it made him dizzy. The urge to punch out every person that had ever even looked at Dean, even innocently, became overwhelming.

“When we get out of here I’m tracking that asshole down, and any others, and they’re going to find themselves with my bullet between their eyes.” Sam meant it.

Dean was trying to think them out of there, trying to find another door. Sam put a hand on his arm and immediately the scene over his brother’s shoulder changed. Dean pulled away from him and tried to force the memory away, but his mind refused to budge.

Young Dean was sitting on the sun-faded porch steps of one of their many temporary homes, his legs drawn up, his arms hugged tight around his knees, and curling himself into a ball. Sweat beaded up and trickled down his neck, soaked into his shirt from the warm summer day, but his body shivered like it was the dead of winter.

Having spotted his brother, Young Sam opened the door all smiles as he walked out over the salt line and onto the porch shirtless and barefoot. Dean buried his face deep against his arms and Sam’s smile disappeared. He plopped down next to him and put a thin arm around the damp shirt on Dean’s back, patting him. “It’s okay, Dean. Dad’ll be home soon.”

Both Deans tensed, the older Dean angry, the younger trying not to cry in front of Sam.

Young Dean dropped one arm down the steps and pulled up the paper bag that was sitting at his feet and held it out to Sam. Sam looked curiously at him, then stood and took it, looking inside. He used the distraction to wipe at his wet eyes.

Sammy sifted excitedly through all the food inside the bag that Dean had bought. Bought with the dirty money people had paid him for a piece of his young virtue.

“I like Lucky Charms!”

“Yeah, I know you do. Save me some this time, piggy,” Dean tried to smile, tried to joke. He poked a finger against Sam’s bare tummy.

Sam opened his mouth to say something teasing back, but stopped as he looked down into Dean’s face. He could see right through the wall Dean was always putting up around his emotions. He saw past it in a way current Sam hasn’t been able to do in years. The bag dropped to the floor and Sam fell onto him, arms around his neck. “Don’t be sad! I’m here, I’ll take care of you. I love you Dean!” Sam hugs him tight. Dean pulls fiercely against him, pulling at that love of Sam, letting it balm his wounds.

A moment later he released Sam and sat up straight, protecting him as he always had, even from the truth.

“I’m fine. Come on, I’ll make us dinner.”

“Nu-uh. I’m gonna cook you dinner.”

And young Dean finally smiled. “You mean you’re gonna burn us dinner.”

Sammy laughed and their banter resumed, and Real Sam remembered that exact conversation. He always thought it had been because Dean was missing their father, but never figured out the true reason until this very moment. He looked back at his brother.

Dean, who never complained, who gave everything he ever had to his family. Whose protection of Sam ran so deep, there was nothing he wouldn’t do. Sam couldn’t help the tears.

“Stop. I’m fine, Sam. It was a long time ago.”

“Dean...”

“I’m not doing the ‘talk about our feelings’ crap! We survived. It’s over. I’m over it. I’m FINE.”

Sam ignored the wall he was trying to hide behind. Without his permission, Dean’s mind showed him what he needed. Sam took a cue from his younger and seemingly wiser self and pulled Dean into an embrace. He hugged his brother and for the first time since entering his head, Dean didn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry that happened to you. God, I’m so sorry. It’s not your fault, don’t you dare turn this in on yourself. I–”

Before he spoke another word it felt like the ground opened up and swallowed them both...

They flashed through memories, one after another, good memories. The two of them playing together with Legos and army men. Lounging on the sofa watching old westerns. Sitting on the beach, sinking their toes into the sand.

Dean’s mind wanted to get as far away from the bad memory as possible, and probably distract Sam from it too.

The Dean that Sam held in his arms suddenly became the young boy. He hugged Sam back, his arms thrown around his middle, his face buried against his chest. Sam was heartbroken for his Dean, he pulled him as close as he could, as if he could somehow protect him, wrap him up and take him away from all the terrible things he had endured in his life. He kissed the top of his head and his brother let out a comforted sigh against him. Dean wouldn’t want to talk about what Sam had seen before this. They would talk, but not here, not now. He needed Dean to wake up first, not retreat further away.

They drifted in and out of memories for a long while. No doors, just space and flashbacks.

Sam and Dean watching fireworks together, Christmas holidays spent with just the two of them, Sam beaming over another A on a paper and Dean pinning it to the fridge. Dean smiling after Sam gave him a birthday present he had wrapped himself. Their first drive in the Impala alone. Sam hugging Dean tight after the eldest son came home from his first hunt with dad. Sam in the school production of “Our Town” and Dean clapping and whistling when Sam took his bow. Playing pranks on each other. The two of them drinking beer sitting out stargazing on the hood of the car. Then it was just them. Joking, laughing, smiling. All their good days in an infinite loop.

Sam was moved by all the things Dean remembered of them and held close. He could have sat right down and watched it forever. But it was better to live than to dream.

“I won’t be able to make any future good memories with you if you don’t wake up now,”Sam said, but nothing changed, except it was full grown Dean in his arms again. Sam tried again but Dean was lost in good memories and simply wouldn’t listen. He kept trying, each happy memory and subsequent lost moment increasing the fear that he’d lose Dean forever.

He knew he had to say something. Push some button that would make him stop. “A little chick-flick, isn’t it?” _Fuck_. Sam wanted to take it back the moment it left his lips.

Dean pulled away from him, his entire demeanor changing, bristling. He took a long stride across the room away from Sam without a word.

“I didn’t mean that, okay? I just need you to wake up. I’m going to do whatever it takes,” Sam said desperately.

Dean put a hand up and a dozen doors appeared. Sam let out a groan of frustration.

“Don’t you get it? I’m never going to stop until you do,” Sam said. “So let’s fight this monster, or try a chant, or you talk to me already damn it!

Dean continued his silence, concentrating hard at the doors in front of them.

“You want me to beg, Dean? Hell, I’ll get on my knees and beg you. I’ll do whatever you want!”

There was a baleful laugh in the room and every door before them turned solid black. They had been found yet again.

Dean cursed. He flung a hand up and doors of several colors appeared. Green, pink, yellow, red…

“You know what I want you to do, Sam? I want you to shut up.”

Sam of course didn’t, he kept pleading even as Dean grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him towards a door.

“We are going to run out the clock in here now,” Dean threw the door open, “until Bobby breaks your stupid spell and ends my goddamned misery!”

Yellow. Behind the door were things Dean would never admit to in the light of day. It was the door to Dean’s embarrassments.

Dean being shot down by a girl in front of a whole circle of giggling girls. Sam had rarely ever seen Dean strike out, but it had happened a surprising number of times he realized, as he got to view them all in a terribly embarrassing row.

“Stop it Dean, talk to me!” Sam said firmly, trying to ignore what he was seeing.

The time when Dean was a child and their father had walked in and caught him rubbing himself off. Then being sat down for “the talk”. Dean’s face was light up by humiliation through the whole awkward ordeal.

Dean running away from the smallest dog that Sam had ever seen wearing a pink ribbon in its hair.

The time he had split his jeans while they were on a hunt, and dad had refused to go back to the motel, just stuck a patch of duct tape on them. For the whole day. Lunch breaks at a café and all.

“Stop!” Sam repeated but fighting a smirk.

Dean on a hunt, wiggling his head through an iron grating over the windows to an abandoned house trying to get a look inside. “Uh… Dad… uh…” He tugged, “I’m, um, stuck.” John dumped gun oil around Dean’s head that was stuck between the bars and yanked on him. Dean looked miserable, his hair and face covered in oil and his ears bright red by the time he finally got free. Even John was laughing.

Despite the seriousness of the situation they were in Sam laughed, he couldn’t help himself.

Dean trying to scrounge up some extra money while they were on a case in California, showing up at a modeling gig, which ended with him wearing some pretty weird stuff—fashion people are freaks. But whatever, he made some good cash for that. Fast forward a few years when Dean pretended he was researching a case, but was in fact surfing porn on Sam’s laptop. And _what is a twink?_ Under the name “J. Thunder” His young self, shirtless and cowboy hat clad, was looking back at him from the page. “Oh…my...god…” Memory Sam looked up at him from across the room and inquired, “What?” Dean slammed the laptop closed.

The laughter was bubbling out of Sam by now, all his efforts to stop only making it worse.

The time Dean fell asleep at a date’s house and returned from the bathroom, turning left when he should have turned right. He woke up a few hours later with the woman’s mother next to him screaming “CALL THE POLICE! There is a naked man in my bed!” at the top of her lungs as Dean, still not fully awake, bolted from the house. He ran all the way home naked as the day he was born, running into several people on the way, some of whom were screaming, others laughing, and finally John, who stared down at him horrified when he opened the front door.

Sam couldn’t stop laughing and doubled over with it. He reached up and gave his brother’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “Oh Dean,” He tried to say through the laughs as Dean frowned and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “S‘not funny,” but he smiled a little as he watched Sam positively bursting, some of the sting of those embarrassments having faded.

Another memory started but Sam hit him hard in the arm, “Stop! Stop, seriously! Stop it!” Sam straightened up as the memory played on anyway but ignored it. His brother had successfully distracted him, damn it. “This is serious. Come on. I don’t want to see your Funniest Home Video highlight reels ok? I want to know what is going on with you. Tell me why you won’t wake up.”

Sam heard his name whispered around the room.

Dean flung open the nearest door. A pink door. And shoved him through.

Suddenly Sam was standing in a gaudy pink room with not one, two, or even three girls, but four! All over Dean. All over each other. Dean was naked, laid out on a bed, while the girls continuously pulled each other off him and climbed on. They grinded up against his hands, sunk their mouths against each other. Limbs and bodies tangled with one another, until an endless chorus of feminine moans was in the air.

“Oh, god.” Sam looked across the room, as Dean had put a lot of distance between them. Dean just shrugged and smiled at him. “Memory or dream?” Sam asked. He grinned that cocky grin, and Sam couldn’t help the eye roll.

He walked across the room to Dean, making sure not to look back at the scene. He stood there a moment, waiting to leave, but Dean just cocked an eyebrow and didn’t move, teasing him that he was plenty happy to stay and watch the rest.

Sam blushed, shifting from one foot to the other. He knew it was a bit of payback for the chick-flick comment, Dean was showing him that he was anything but a chick-flick kind of guy.

“It’s a beautiful, natural act, Sam,” Dean slapped him on the back. “I should just leave you in here. At least I finally got you to shut up.” Sam’s mouth opened and closed, impersonating a fish out of water.

“All right, let’s find something more G rated for you, kiddo.” Dean pulled up more standard doors and walked through one, but it turned pink just as he stepped through.

A brunette and a blowjob was on the other side. Dean looked more shocked than Sam, and he gripped him by the arm and quickly pulled him through the next door. Every door afterwards was one sexual exploit after another.

Dean getting hit on in bars by women. And men. A pretty long string of flirty waitresses. There were chicks Sam knew Dean hooked up with, some he hadn’t, and some he was pretty sure were just wishes from the Busty Asian Beauties website. Sam even witnessed some feats he was pretty sure were not physically possible outside of Dean’s head… or Dean was in fact as bendy as the slinky he had dreamed of being earlier.

Dean, getting exasperated, opened another door and hesitated a moment but then shook his head and went through.

A memory involving pink satiny panties _Dean_ was wearing was on the other side.

“Dude.” Sam’s mouth hung open.

“Uh…” It was Dean’s turn to blush and laugh nervously. He was concentrating hard now, visibly trying to get them out of the porn loop in his head.

On the other side of the next door was a three-way. With another guy. The girl in the middle on her hands and knees separating the two was moaning her pleasure, while Dean stayed behind the red headed woman, keeping his eyes down and focusing only on her.

Dean was so scandalized and betrayed by his own brain, he was stuck in place.

“None of this exactly fits the standards for a G rating there, Dean,” Sam teased and moved past him and reached for the next door himself. “Pervert,” Sam laughed as he pulled it open.

Dean’s face shifted, and the door Sam walked through turned a deep abysmal gray, nearly black, but Sam was already stepping through it by the time he noticed.

The scene beyond the door stopped him dead in his tracks.

“You sick pervert!” A fist came up hard snapping Memory Dean’s head back. He fell backwards onto the garish motel carpet. He let his body stay where it landed, just laid there, not even putting up a fight.

Sam took a step forward before remembering he could do nothing to stop a memory. He grabbed the arm of the Dean standing next to him, this time for reassurance. Dean was trying to change the scene, Sam could feel it in the way his arm was tensing under his grasp, and in the way the memory flickered for an instant, but continued on. Sam took it all in…

Their father was in an absolute fury, he launched himself to the floor, hitting Dean, striking him hard and fast. Dean looked like a rag doll, letting himself be beaten to a bloody mess, not putting up one hand to stop the assault. Just lying there, taking it. John’s ring caught Dean’s cheek, ripped it open as he hit him, another punch split his chin. When he saw that Dean wasn’t even fighting back, John got to his feet again, kicking him as hard as he could in the side. It was twice more before Dean finally balled up on the floor.

Every bruise, every wound, they were the one’s Sam had tended too, stitched up that night when Dean had come back to him in Texas and wouldn’t tell him what had happened.

John suddenly pulled the knife from his belt fixing his eyes on Dean. The look chilled Sam to the bone. It was a look his father reserved for demons before he sent them back to hell. Sam had seen his father get drunk, he had taken a half hearted swing at Sam numerous times, he had even really hurt Sam several times before, but not like this. That had been murder in his father’s eyes.

Dean glared up at John. He stretched his body out, leaned up on his hands so that his chest was open and bared.

Sam’s heart pounded against the ribs of his own chest.

“Do it,” Dean gurgled as spit and blood came out with the words and ran down his chin.

John suddenly looked pained, like he wanted to plunge the blade into himself. “Son, why are you like this?” He said shaking his head.

“Do it! I’m sick in the goddamned head! I know it!” Dean yelled in reply, getting to his feet, the fight in him returning.

The black door appeared directly in front of them.

“Son of a bitch!” Real Dean spat before he grabbed Sam’s arm and they were through another ‘safe’ door.

“What the hell was that?” Sam nearly screamed as Dean pulled him along.

“Drop it.”

“Drop it?!” Sam echoed out still in shock, his voice several octaves higher than normal.

Dean tried to distract him again, shoved him through door after door, all the while Sam refused to ‘drop it’.

Sam fought him, struggled against his pull, screamed at him, but they were in Dean’s world, and nothing he did seemed to slow them down. He threw up all the good memories he could think of trying to get Sam’s attention. None of the happier thoughts got Sam looking anywhere but Dean’s face.

“Why the hell would Dad do that?” Sam asked undeterred.  
The black door appeared but Dean yelled out, screamed and pushed Sam through another safe door. He was desperate then, desperate to distract Sam.

“Tell me why you won’t wake up!” The black door appeared again, but Dean flung his hand up, cursing and screaming until it disappeared.

Sam finally, _finally_ got it. Things he said affected what Dean was thinking and thus determined what they saw. Dean might be able to pull him, or rather think him where he wanted, but Sam was the one putting questions in his head, the one directing where his thoughts went.

“Tell me why you won’t wake up!” He repeated and the black door appeared again. “Tell me why you won’t wake up!” he kept saying it. The door wouldn’t be sent away this time.

“No!” Dean yelled as it began to swing open. A stormy blue door appeared, it was cold, wet as if the door itself was crying. Dean didn’t know what else to do so he shoved Sam through it.


	7. Closet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well my trust in you is a dog with a broken leg,  
> Tendons too torn to beg, for you to let me back in.  
> You said, “I can’t prove to you you’re not gonna die alone,  
> But trust me to take you home,  
> To clean up that blood all over your paws.  
> -THE ANTLERS

The room they stepped into was overcast in gloom, as the walls leaked water until it took on the mournful patter of rain. Instead of falling downward however much of the water ran up the walls of the room and fell drearily towards the ceiling. Some droplets went diagonally across the center of the room splashing against the walls as it struck, while some water fell across the flat floor and swept along as if it were at a slant. Sam reached out a hand curiously towards the rainstorm colored walls, letting the water run over his outstretched fingers. It wasn’t wet to the touch, just felt cold. The coldness turned into a feeling that ran up his arm. Melancholy leeched into Sam until he had to start fighting it from overtaking him. He pulled his hand away. This was a place of tears in Dean’s head, all stored up, rarely ever shed. Dean was burying them deep inside his mind, trying to lose them somewhere far away.

The memories that began were stitched together in one long stretch of pain.

Dean as a young child sad over a forgotten birthday, long before that had become routine. Sad over the friends he had to leave when they switched schools, before he finally learned to just stop making them. Upset when he made a mistake on a hunt, and John had dropped him off at Pastor Jim’s house before he headed back to the hunt without him. Many other little sadnesses falling into view, one after another, like the drops of water that ran down the walls around them.

A child version of Dean suddenly appeared next to Sam and grabbed his hand and held it, “I don’t want to be here,” he whispered, his eyes big as he looked up imploringly at him. Sam looked over at Real Dean and the stony expression he wore. “Let’s leave this place,” he said.

A young blonde high school girl suddenly walked past them and shot Dean a look of disgust. “We both know that you're just a sad, lonely little kid. And I feel sorry for you.”

“It’s the truth! Please. Please don’t go,” A memory of Dean was pleading, walking past them as if they weren’t there. His old flame Cassie went storming by as she made her way to the door.

“You’re nuts!” She screamed back.

More women angry with Dean, furious when he lied, seething when he told them the truth, all came and went. Fights and harsh words flowing. Women yelling at Dean, calling him worthless, stupid, crazy.

The memories continued around them, picking up in anger. The barrage of things people said to his brother would be among the cruelest Sam ever heard in his life. Demons didn’t even talk that way! Mostly the women seemed angry about the life he led, that he wouldn’t leave it to settle down, or they were mad about the truth they discovered about the world they lived in and blamed that on Dean.

_“I wish I had never met you. You’re the worse thing that has ever happened to me.”_

_“How did I get involved with such a train wreck? I must be the first idiot to ever like you.”_

_“The only monster here is you, Dean Winchester. I hope you take that silver knife and stick it through your own heart.”_

Dean winced.

Sam saw red. He wanted to shoot those bitches full of rock salt.

Dean was trying to stop it now, shook his head, but the visions played on. Another Dean, a sad, blue Dean, appeared before them. “Not good enough. Never am.”

Flashes of all the people Dean couldn’t save began to appear. The ones that died before he got there, before he ever even knew about the case were first up, as if he blamed himself for not saving the whole of humanity. Then there were the ones he had seen die, who had screamed just inches from him before being torn to shreds. Then the people he held in his arms as they died, the ones he felt go. Even worse, the ones he had to kill while he held them. Had to slit their throats, or shoot them in the heart because they had been turned, without a cure.

Sam knew how hunting had affected him, but he never knew just how deeply Dean held on to each and every person. Blue Dean groaned, “Not good enough, that’s why. We let everyone down.”

“That’s not true!” Sam began what he was saying looking at Blue Dean, before turning his head back to Real Dean. “You’ve saved so many people! No one can save the whole world.”

All the people they had personally known that had died began to flash, all their faces, all their wounds, all the loss. Dean tried to wave the images away, it was all too much.

Sam could see the black door off in the distance of all these memories now, like a vulture circling the dying. Dean was losing control. It was like the dam had broken, all his pain rushing out unstoppable. Young Dean hid behind Sam.

Another Dean stepped out in front of them, his features distorted by anger. Sam took a step back as this Angry Dean leaned in and whispered hatefully, “Everyone leaves you.”

Soft feminine humming began to fill the room.

“I don’t want to be here!” Young Dean began to beg from behind him. Sam put his hand on Real Dean’s arm then, steadying them both. “Make it stop now,” He pleaded as Dean shook his head, trying the best he could.

He recognized the hummed song as it increased in volume around them, “Hey Jude.”

A sob ripped out of Dean.

The memory was of their mother. She was smiling, ruffling her fingers lovingly against young Dean’s head, “Angels are watching over you, baby.” The sudden nostril singeing stench of burning flesh and hair filled the air until Sam choked on it. He felt the intense heat flare from above them.

_“Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don't look back! Now, Dean, go!”_

The tiny four year old Dean was outside cradling infant Sam, their house ablaze in front of him. Sam heard his brother’s whispered begging to the angels. Dean’s very last prayer...

The humming continued on around them undeterred through it all.

“Make it stop, Dean!” Sam pleaded again.

Blue Dean was there and he turned and grabbed at Real Dean, “What did you do? What was it?” Sam put a hand onto the Dean next to him and pushed Blue Dean away from them.

A loud boom echoed around them like fireworks, startling them both. A young Sammy ran towards them, smiling up at Dean. “This is great!” He hugged his arms around his brother’s waist. As Dean tried to return the hug the young Sam vanished.

Younger memory Dean walked past them, clearly terrified, holding an EMF meter in his hand. “He wouldn’t do that, Dad!”

“Nothing took him, he ran away.” John was picking up the keys to the car.

“No. Sam wouldn’t go like that. He wouldn’t just… leave!”

The two vanished and another memory of Dean was opening Sam’s bedroom door.

“Hey, Dad’s not home, what do you say we ditch the studying and go see a movie tonight or we could go…” A teenage Sam got off his bed and walked towards Dean. Without a word he closed the door in Dean’s face. Dean hit the door with a fist then pivoted on his heels and walked straight out of the house.

“Everyone leaves you.” Angry Dean repeated to them with a sneer. “What did I do?” Blue Dean asked. Real Dean shook his head, he wanted it to stop. Now.

“Sam?” It was a memory of them, Dean and an almost adult Sam, lying in their separate beds in a motel room with the lights out, no doubt on some hunt with Dad one room over. Neither of them was asleep.

“Are you mad at me for something?”

Sam rolled over in his bed facing away. “No.”

“Listen, if I did something…” Dean said, looking at the back of Sam’s head.

“I hate this life. I hate all of it. I can’t wait until I’m out of here,” he huffed in reply.

Memory Dean rolled away to face the opposite wall too. He curled up small under his covers.

Child Dean gasped from behind Sam, “You hate me.” Sam tried to speak, but another memory started before he could even think. It was all moving too fast to process.

Memory Dean was chasing an angry Sam with his bag slung over his arm down the stairs. “Dad doesn’t mean it. You know the temper he has. Don’t go like this, Sam.”

Sam stormed past their father in the living room and Dean grabbed hold of his sweatshirt. Sam turned and looked at him, his eyes shifting and furious. “But he does mean it. Because I…”

“If you walk away from this family,” his father cut him off, “your responsibilities…If you leave…” John jumped to his feet as an enraged Sam whipped around to face him, pulling out of Dean’s grasp. “Then don’t come back!”

John flung open the front door and stood next to it.

Sam walked towards their father. His fists balled tight as he got right into John’s face. He looked him in the eye, defiant and puffing out his chest. But without a word he turned around and stormed out, taking his anger into the night. John blocked the doorway, Dean behind him looked devastated. It was one of the last fights Sam had with his father before he left the life of hunting.

The scene changed and Memory Dean was sitting in the bright morning sunlight in the Impala, parked outside the same house. Drunk off his ass and…crying.

Sam had never seen Dean cry like that, a tear, maybe two, but never openly sobbing out in grief. Dean just _didn’t_ cry like that. Not for gunshot wounds or for girls. Not for anything. It hit Sam like a punch to the face that this was when he had gone off to college. _He hadn’t thought that… he just didn’t realize…_

Sam watched the memory of Dean cry, and the Real Dean next to him tugged out of his grasping hand, stepping away from him. The child Dean behind Sam, now sobbing too, ran away from him, vanishing into the walls of water.

“Why?” Blue Dean repeated. “Because you deserve to be left!” The Angry Dean spat at them as he circled the scene, “You deserve it! You should be alone. We’re going to die alone.”

Those words struck at Sam, knowing this is how Dean felt. He shook his head no, but then shock overtook him again…

As Memory Dean sitting in the Impala suddenly yanked off the amulet from around his neck, the one Sam had given to him all those years ago. Letting a yell tear out of him, he flung it across the car. It cracked into the window leaving a chip in the glass before it landed with a muffled thud in Sam’s empty seat. Dean turned away and cried harder, clutching at the ghost of it around his neck.

A memory of their father appeared a second later. He was sitting on the edge of a motel bed while his father packed. Dean looked aged beyond his twenty five years as John was telling him he had a lead he needed to follow up on, alone. Dean was old enough to get out there on his own now. They could cover more ground if they split up.

“But Dad, I don’t—”

“That’s an order.”

"Yes, Sir. But can’t I—"

" _Dean._ "

That final word silenced all protests and he picked up the bag at his feet and left the room.

Memory John was there again, some other time before Sam had come back to join the fight. Dean was trying to voice how he felt to his father, trying to explain, to ask for help. He _needed help_.

“You need to man up is what you need. Stop acting like the world is ending, we have a job to do,” John said, disappointment soaked deep into each word. Dean just lowered his head. He didn’t say another thing.

“That is enough, make it stop,” Sam repeated. Dean’s trembling hands were on the sides of his head, trying.

Memory Dean was sitting in the car by himself in the dark. He stared out into the emptiness of the night beyond the glass, a blank lifeless expression on his face. He was covered in someone else’s blood. Another hunt gone wrong. No one there to talk to. He flipped his phone open, pulled up Sam’s number. Closed it. Sam hadn’t called him in two years.

Dean leaned over and fished something out of the glove compartment. He held the object up, the brassy color glinting in the moonlight. With the same blank expression still on his face he dropped the black cord back around his neck.

Angry Dean was standing in the room with them again and began to walk towards them, letting all his hate come seething out at the real Dean, at himself. “I don’t know why you keep trying. I know how worthless you are. I know how you look into a mirror and hate what you see. You should hate what you see! Just stop fighting. It's not much of a life worth saving anyway. After all, what do you have? You have nothing. You _are_ nothing. Nothing outside of...”

Real Dean cut himself off, screaming back to his own words like he had split personalities. “I don’t deserve this life. He's the one who wasn't there. He wasn’t there for me, he wasn’t there for Sam! I always was! I shouldn’t hate myself for it.”

The black door appeared, disappeared, reappeared. A line of doors appeared behind it, all in varying shades of blue.

An adolescent Dean darted from behind one of the doors and Sam almost jumped. “It’s us!” he yelled. “They leave because of who we are!” Then he began to creepily singsong a verse of a poem as he skipped around the room.

_“There's no monster in the closet, no shadow under your bed, it’s just the normal whispers, sending darkness through your head!”_

His voice was echoing it over and over until Sam could not repress the shiver that ran up his spine. A lot of other Deans of all ages started emerging from the blue doors. Some grasping at bleeding wounds, others dragging behind them the people they couldn’t save. Some small and running terrified, others upset and muttering, pleading or throwing punches at phantom foes.

Sam did jump this time when Angry Dean reappeared directly in front of them and shoved Real Dean as hard as he could. “Stop!” Sam cried. Angry Dean grinned at himself, “They can’t stand to be around us. No one can.” He tried to pull Real Dean out of Sam’s grasp but Sam held on firmly. Child Dean ran back out from behind the weeping walls, collapsing at the feet of Sam, hugging himself against his legs. Adolescent Dean continued his eerie chant.

_It’s just the normal whispers!_

“Please don’t hate me!”

“We’re going to go to hell for what we are.”

“I’m already in hell!”

_Sending darkness through your head!_

“…Why don’t you kill yourself?”

 

“ **NO**!” Sam yelled out. All of the Deans in the room vanished except the one Sam was clinging fast to, the original Dean.

 

Sam couldn’t bear watching all of Dean’s self hatred come out like that, all of his pain. “Whatever bullshit you are holding in, it doesn’t matter. You are a good person, why can’t you see that?” he asked.

“A good person,” Dean shook his head.

Memory Dean was there again in reply to Sam. He swung the car to the shoulder of the road, kicking up dust as it screeched to a halt just as he reached the driveway to The Saddles and Boots Motel. He sat there a moment, staring out the windshield. He fingered the 9mm gun sitting in his lap. He was covered in blood, damaged from his father’s blows. He glanced in his rearview mirror, watching the road and he flicked the safety off the gun.

Sam tried to see what was chasing Dean, what he was afraid of. A sick feeling pooled in his guts at the realization of what he was actually witnessing.

He flipped the safety back on. And off again. Back on. Off.

Dean held the gun up and closed his eyes. He rolled his head back and forth against it slowly, letting the muzzle of the gun scratch along the hair near his temple. He sat still for a long minute and let out a shuddery breath.

He glanced back up, toward the motel, toward their room. Sam happened to walk in front of the window with a book in his hand, oblivious. Dean dropped the gun as if it had bit him and it hit the seat, bounced and skittered to the floor. His body trembling, he bowed his head as if to cry, but then hollered instead and began punching his fist against the steering wheel. He pulled up to the motel and swung the door open. He was back two days earlier than Sam expected him to arrive and knew he looked as reckless and wild as he felt…

“Jesus, Dean. Why would you even?” Real Sam couldn’t believe that Dean would...he couldn’t even let himself think it!

“Why can’t you see yourself like I see you?” He continued.

“The way _you_ see me?” Dean’s voice seemed to echo from far away.

The Dean next to him was numb, he had nothing left to give. But his mind spoke for him, and he didn’t even bother trying to send the memories away. With weary resignation, he closed his eyes to it.

Memory Sam was there pulling Memory Dean to his feet. They were standing in Sam’s apartment near Stanford. This was the night Dean showed up, the first time they had seen each other in years.

“What the hell are _you_ doing here?” Sam cringed when he heard his memory self say the words, when he heard the venom in his voice.

Dean was broken, Dad was missing, and those were some of the first words out of Sam’s mouth to him. He sees the look of pain that flashes in Dean’s eyes for the quickest of seconds, before the facade went up, hiding how Sam had wounded him. He joked it off.

“Well I was looking for a beer.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Okay. All right. We gotta talk.”

“Uh, the phone?” Sam continued in the same heartless tone.

“If I'd'a called, would you have picked up?” Dean asked.

Real Sam looked down, closing his eyes to it too. He had so many regrets, and this was a fresh one. This was how Dean saw himself, how he thought Sam felt. Dean didn’t view himself as Sam’s hero any more, not even his brother. Dean saw himself in the exact way Sam’s voice had been that night. In Dean’s mind it had confirmed that he was nothing, just a link to the past that Sam didn’t want.

“…Dad's on a hunting trip. And he hasn't been home in a few days…”

Dean was wearing that same blank expression now. The look of being so far past pain… that you finally felt nothing.

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

The world they were in slowly started to fade, to whiteout around the edges, growing fainter.

“I’m so sorry. But it isn’t like that, none of it is like that. You’ve got it wrong.”

“No?” his tone bitter, “then tell me what it is like, Sam.”

“Mom didn’t leave you, she was taken. Dad didn’t leave you either, he just isn’t coping well. And I… I’m not going to leave you again. I didn’t have a choice before, okay?”

Sam fought for the words, the ones he really wanted to say, but they wouldn’t come.

“You don’t have a choice now either,” Dean replied. His whole being was gaunt, worn out. The world faded until Sam and Dean were standing in a big empty space. No doors, no walls, nothing but a vast white expanse on all sides of them.

“We are going to get you out of this,” Sam said quieter, determined. “And we are going to work on all these things, all of them. Whatever it takes.”

Dean slumped, and put an arm around Sam’s shoulder to keep himself standing.

“Sammy. Please. Let me go.”

While Sam was taken aback by the secrets his brother was revealing--his feelings, all his pain-- no matter what he saw he couldn’t let it drop, because Dean HAD to wake up. Sam needed to know what was behind door number one.

“There is no sandman here… it’s this thing with Dad. That’s why you won’t wake up? This secret?” Sam finally asked the real question. “I don’t care what you’ve done. I don’t care what dad thinks.”

Dean just slumped against him further, defeated.

Sam tried to think of what would set his father off to such an extreme, what would disappoint a man like John Winchester and leave Dean so wreaked. He felt like he was staring right at the answer, like it was right there, but he was a blind man. He wracked his brain until little bits and pieces, hints of things started to fall into place, until he thought he might finally know...

“Listen Dean, if you are bisexual or gay or whatever, you know it doesn’t matter to me, right? You don’t have to be alone because of it. I don’t care if you like guys. And if it matters to dad he can go to hell.”

Dean laughed. Honest to goodness laughed, bent over, his arm still slung around Sam’s neck, his body bouncing with laughter. But it quickly went from a deep amused laugh to a high pitched insane laugh. The laugh of a mad man.

“You have to come out of this!” Sam grabbed Dean by the shoulders and shook him cutting off his deranged howls.

“I don’t _want_ to!” Dean snapped.

He flung Sam’s hands off of him so hard that Sam staggered backwards, startled.

“I don’t want to come out of this! Can’t you for once, just for once, listen to me and hear what I’m saying? Just do what I am asking of you? I don’t want to wake up. I want you out of my mind!”

Sam was angry. He was scared. He didn’t know what else to do. He grabbed Dean by the collar of his jacket, pulled him in, shook him, and he just…

“ _Sam_ ,” a voice called from behind him.

Standing in stark contrast to the never ending white was the solid black door. It waited, in the center of the room, looming.

Dean was worn thinner than his favorite t-shirt, but he pulled Sam away from the door. Sam resisted him, and much to his surprise easily broke free of his grip. He almost lost his footing because it had been the first time he had managed successfully to pull away while in Dean’s head. He turned back towards the door and ran at it.

Dean tackled him from behind throwing them both to the floor. They were struggling, fighting each other on the ground. They were locking arms and breaking free, until they began throwing punches. Dean hit Sam first, clocking him and sending his face sideways to the floor. Sam recovered and socked Dean in the chin, trying to force his weight off. Dean got the upper hand and pinned Sam on his back to the floor, one hand at Sam's neck, screaming nearly hysterical.

“GET OUT OF MY HEAD, SAM! GET OUT!”

Sam wiggled an arm free, and hell, this wasn’t reality… he focused all his mental energy into his shove, and it worked! The heel of his hand punched into Dean’s shoulder and he flew backwards and toppled. Sam was up, on his feet and at the door as Dean raced after him.

“Don’t,” Dean begged from behind him as Sam reached for the door, “Sam, just…please.”

He slumped down then, in what seemed like slow motion, like the effort of all of this was draining him away. He kneeled, head down behind Sam’s ever long legs, one arm reaching up to grip the fabric of Sam’s pant leg with a weak tug. It was all the effort he seemed to have left in holding his little brother back.

Sam’s hand was on the black door knob, it was hot and tacky under his fingers. He looked behind him.

“Please wake up,” he implored one final time but Dean just let out a cry of frustration.

His brother had refused to let him in, told him just the barest of facts in the waking world for so many years that Sam was almost sick with the real pleasure of being in Dean’s head, seeing those secrets come tumbling out at his feet, really _knowing_ him. He was thinking of all the ways he could try to help when this was all done, all the ways they could talk. He could explain himself. He could try to fix this. Fix Dean. After all he had seen, what was this thing that Dean guarded like it was the devil himself?

“Don’t do this.” Dean’s words were a whispered plea, but they fell on deaf ears.

He knew he was mentally mind fucking his brother now, pulling his most private thoughts out of the shadows and into the light. He had already seen things that Dean would have been happy to take to his grave, almost down to the center of his very self loathing core, but he had to know.

Sam didn’t care who Dean had killed, who Dean had fucked. There was nothing that could make Sam not want to see, not want to know his brother more than anything in the world. He knew the only way to convince him that nothing could change his mind was to see beyond Dean’s last door.

“There is nothing that will change my mind or stop me from waking you up.” Sam gripped the doorknob and he turned it all the way and watched the door swing inward. Beyond lay darkness, as black as the door itself had been. It was so pitch black that it seemed to be alive and pulling in any light that dared to get too close, swallowing it down.

Dean began to cry out behind him, “I’ll do whatever you want! Just stop!”

Sam shifted forward.

“No, no, don't. Don't—stop! Stop! Stop, Sam! —Please! If you care about me at all, Sam!”

“ _Sam_ ,” another voice breathed out in front of him from the center of the darkness.

He took a step forward to whatever lay beyond...

 

 

To be continued…

Comments keep my fingers typing. Why yes that is a shameless request for feedback! Even a "you suuuuuuuuuck" at least I know someone is reading ha. What can I say, seeing comments makes my muse go wild ;)


	8. In Your Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *evil laugh*

Sam stepped forward into the hot, damp pitch-blackness and the door slammed shut behind him. A force pulled him forward, rushing him further inside. He tried to slow the movement, but his shoes skidded along the floor, barely resisting the drag. There was a rise of disembodied voices calling out from in front of him, growing louder the further he was pulled in. He couldn’t help but think of Dante’s inferno, as if he was about to discover the tenth circle inside Dean’s head. His hunter senses were tingling.

“ _Sam._ ”

It was the voice that had been haunting them, stalking them at every turn. But there was nothing of the devil in it now, it was purely…

“Dean?”

The pulling stopped as quickly as it had started and a light came on from above. Dean was leaning up against a black wall with a dangerous glint in his eye. He was clothed in black from head to toe, even the charm around his neck was as inky as the door had been. Everything else around them remained in shadow.

All the way down to the very stuff he is made of, Sam knows his brother. There are no monsters here... “I’m here. I’m not leaving,” he said.

Dark Dean pushed away from the wall with the tiniest hint of a smile. His eyes, a piercing shade of bright green in sharp contrast to all the darkness around them, lingered on Sam as he closed the small space between them. This wasn’t the Dean that Sam had left pleading with him on the other side of the closed door. This Dean looked feral, like a wolf coming to gobble Sam up.

As he watched him approach he realized that the Dean of this dark place must be a fractured part of his brother’s mind, some dangerous part he’d kept locked away from the rest of himself. His stomach tightened at the way Dean looked him up and down, predatory, studying him as if he was about to attack. Sam forced himself to relax. No part of Dean would ever hurt him.

“You’re going to w-wake up now.” Sam’s voice waivered a little as Dark Dean’s tongue peeked out and unconsciously licked over his lips as he moved in even closer. Sam could feel the heat coming off his body.

He raised a hand up and without warning let the pad of his finger touch the bare skin at Sam’s throat, feeling his veins pulse beneath it. The touch caused Sam’s heart to do a somersault jump, and Dean flashed a knowing smile. His finger moved downwards over the soft red plaid shirt on Sam’s chest.

“I’ve been waiting for you a long time,” He finally spoke, his hand dropping along the length of Sam’s stomach, tracing firmly downwards, and momentarily hooking against his belt.

“Sam,” Dean leaned in and breathed in his ear, “ _Sammy._ ”

His hand slipped over the rough material of Sam’s jeans. Right down the center of him.

Sam nearly jumped out of his skin, his eyes flaring with shock at the feel of Dean’s fingers brushing against his package. He grabbed Dark Dean’s wrist and jerked his hand away from him. Dean laughed and abruptly spun Sam around pushing him forward in the darkness towards all the other voices in the space calling for him.

The darkness in the rest of the room melted away slowly, like someone unwinding bandages from over Sam’s eyes. His name was being said all around him.

Said like it was heaven–

_“Sammy.”_

Like it was hell–

_“No Sam, oh oh, don’t.”_

It was chanted, whispered, moaned, and even sworn out like it was a curse, like it was a promise–

_“Sam, Oh Sam, Oh god Sam! SAM!”_

And all in Dean’s own _whiskygravelhoneyheaven_ voice.

The darkness was finally gone and Sam felt like he was facing a room of endless mirrors, his own face reflected everywhere he looked. But not mirrors. Before him were hundreds of Sams. Hundreds of Deans. Thousands. It was possible they went on forever...

His brother’s secret was Sam. He _wanted_ Sam. He wanted him in any possible way he could have him, and here before Sam’s eyes every one of those memories and fantasies was playing out simultaneously...

♡♡♡

Sam was lying out on the bed in the house they had been renting during that overly warm summer when he was sixteen. His shirt was pulled up, his stomach exposed. He held out a hand towards Dean.

“Sammy,” Dean sunk to his knees on the bed between Sam’s spread legs. He leaned down and let his lips just barley brush that soft line of hair that led down Sam’s belly and disappeared into his unbuttoned jeans. Dean nearly purred…

♡♡♡

Dean rolled over in his own hotel bed and sleepily glanced across to the other bed in the room. Sam’s fist was moving under the sheets with eagerness. He was trying to keep quiet, but small gasps were making their way past his lips. He was so lost in it that he didn’t notice Dean was awake.

“Sam.”

Sam stopped, laid still.

“Keep going…”

Sam hesitated. Then his hand started moving again, harder than before. “You like that?” Sam continued to stoke himself. He shifted so the sheet fell away letting Dean really see him.

“You like watching me, Dean?” His voice hitched with pleasure. “I want you to...”

A wanton cry escaped Dean’s lips as he twisted out from under his sheets.

♡♡♡

Memory Dean stretched out on a motel bed, holding the phone to his ear, “Yeah. No, I am listening, Sam! Geeze.” His eyes closed as his fingers played over the tip of his cock. “Keep talking. I swear I’m listening.” He exhaled a soft breath and he let his hand stroke down his shaft. “Mmhmm, case, Michigan... tell me the details again.” He continued to stroke himself getting off on the sound of Sam’s voice in his ear. Abruptly, as if realizing what he was doing, he forced his hand away from himself and down to his side.

♡♡♡

Sam was shirtless. Just Sam. Shirtless.

♡♡♡

Dean was on his knees completely naked other than the tie around his neck and the cuffs keeping his arms restrained behind him. Sam was standing over him fully dressed in his FBI suit with only his erect cock out in his hand. He slapped the head of it against Dean’s upturned blissed-out face.

“Open,” Sam’s tone was all dominance as he looked down at his brother.

Dean parted his mouth, eyes closing. Sam rubbed his cock along Dean’s plump bottom lip.

“Stick your tongue out.” Dean complied without hesitation.

Sam pulled at the tie around his neck ‘til Dean had no choice but to lean forward and let Sam's stiff length press and slid up his tongue.

“You are going to swallow everything I have to give you.”

Dean moaned in pleasure and stuck his tongue out further.

♡♡♡

“Dude, whatever those doctors gave you for the pain, I seriously want some,” Memory Dean said as he was helping hoist the hunt injured and very drugged Sam into bed. He sat on the edge and tugged the covers up. “You aren’t going to remember any of this, are you?”

Sam put a hand out and booped him on the nose and then laughed giddily.

“You always were a happy drunk.” Dean said with a smile. “In that case, I’m gonna’ tell you something Sammy. I'm in...I-I'm. I want you.”

Sam giggled.

“Think that is funny, huh? Yeah, me too.” Memory Dean tried to smile but his voice came out like misery.

Sam reached for him, slurring, “I kiss’d’you, mhmm. Wo’f.”

“Uh-huh... Who you dreaming of Sammy? Some hot blonde number I’m guessing.”

“Is k’? You kiss’m’now.” He slurred again, his arm loosely slung around Dean’s neck, tugging.

“You want me to kiss you?” Dean was all grins.

Sam just repeated his words but his eyes were falling closed. Dean sighed, “If I weren’t a better man.” And kissed him on the forehead.

♡♡♡

The two of them were lying out naked on the world’s plushest bed, covered in white silk sheets and endless pillows. Dean was lazily laying kisses from the top of Sam’s forehead down in a line, down his nose, pausing for several gentle presses to his lips, then down his chin, under and then further along, leaving soft caresses against his throat. He smiled as he worked his way back up and Sam wrapped him up in his arms, pulling him in. A cloud drifted by through Dean’s thoughts of Heaven.

♡♡♡

Dean shoved Sam roughly against the wall as they rounded the corner of the bar.

“I saw you kiss that little slut, you trying to make me jealous?” Dean’s voice was full of high-charged tension and lust.

“I thought maybe… we could fuck her together,” Sam’s voice was all teasing in tone.

“I don’t play nice with others,” Dean turned him and shoved Sam’s chest back against the wall, holding his arms behind him. “I think I’m gonna have to remind you who you belong to.” He pressed himself closer, letting Sam feel how excited and hard he was.

Sam moaned, “Yeah. P-please, Dean, I need…”

Dean let his voice rumble against his ear “Yeah baby, I know what you need, but I’m not going to give it to you until you beg. I’m going to pound your ass so hard that you stay fucked, ‘til you never forget you are mine again.”

♡♡♡

Sam, wearing a preacher’s outfit for a case, was adjusting his collar in the mirror.

Dean was grinning sinfully behind him. “Forgive me, Father, for I’ve been having impure thoughts...”

“Oh?” Sam turned to him with a devilish look, unzipping his black pants. “Maybe you need to get on your knees and beg for forgiveness.”

“Holy fuck.”

♡♡♡

Fists pulling hair, lips kissing, biting, carnal moans, the two of them pushing and pulling and wildly fucking.

♡♡♡

Memory Dean had his cell phone up to this ear as he paced down the aisle of the gas station, pretending to be looking for snacks.

“You’re under a spell. Fortunately for you it ain’t a particularly nasty one. The witch was just making the townsfolk give over to their cravings, right?” Bobby was saying on the other end of the call. “So just find a lady and the world’s biggest cheeseburger and get it over with.”

Dean swallowed nervously and tossed a look outside at Sam who was waiting in the Impala. “I uh, I can’t really give in to this, Bobby. You are gonna have to find me another way…”

♡♡♡

They were sitting in a back booth at a smoky bar, both filled with one too many drinks. Dean was watching his brother, leering like he wished he was the bottle of beer Sam was pressing up to his lips. Sam laughed and leaned over the table and drunkenly pressed his lips to Deans.

♡♡♡

They were standing in front of a full length bedroom mirror, Dean no longer taller than Sam’s barely legal body. Dean’s hand was closed around Sam’s length stroking him, the thick fingers of his other hand pushing up knuckle deep into his tight hole. Sam’s eyes were closed, while Dean was entranced, watching him in the mirror.

“You like that, sweetheart?”

Sam moaned and pushed his body forward and back, as if he couldn’t make up his mind which felt better. “Look,” Dean whispered the command into Sam’s ear as he twisted his fingers deeper inside. Sam’s eyes opened and locked onto his own reflection in the mirror before drifting back to Dean’s lust filled green ones behind him. “You are making me so hard seeing you like this Sammy. I wanna watch you come.”

♡♡♡

A much older Sam and Dean were lying in bed, cozy. Sam leaned in and kissed both of Dean’s closed eyelids softly, kissed the tip of his nose, kissed his chin. Dean sighed. Happiness. This was it for him.

♡♡♡

“Gross!” the memory of teenage Sam said from the couch next to Dean as he watched him lick his finger and stick it into the last slice of pizza.

“Just claiming what is mine, so your bottomless pit doesn’t steal it later,” He grinned.

The memory faded into fantasy...

Dean leaned over and licked Sam’s face. “Gross!”Sam repeated and wiped his hand over the back of the damp spot on his cheek. Dean, still leaning in licked his tongue down the side of his neck. “Gross,” Sam said with a little less fervor, a hand going to the back of Dean’s head.

Dean licked and kissed underneath his chin, down the other side of his neck. “Claiming what is mine,” Dean repeated and pulled Sam’s lips towards him…

♡♡♡

“Are you… getting off on my dirty clothes?” Sam grabbed his balled up shirt out from behind Dean that he was trying to hide. Dean sputtered unable to respond.

Sam suddenly rubbed the shirt over his cheek and neck, pushed it over his chest, and down between his legs. With a grin he held the shirt, dirty with Sam, over Dean’s shocked face until the scent was heavy around him. Dean was already moaning, breathing in deeply, desperate for the scent, for anything to do with Sam.

Sam straddled Dean’s naked lap, and unzipped his own jeans, pressing himself against Dean’s already achingly hard length. He tugged Dean’s hand back down to where he had been fisting himself when Sam had walked into the room a moment ago, only now he was fisting them both at once…

♡♡♡

“We settle this the old-fashioned way!”

One two three. Sam slapped his fist down, rock. He stared over at Dean’s hand, paper.

“But you…you always pick scissors.” Sam’s grin of victory faded, looking up at Dean.

Dean smiled roguishly back at him as he unzipped his jeans.

“Dude, did you just let me win all those other times, so you... did you _train_ me to always pick rock?”

The smile on Dean’s face increased as he leaned back and pulled out his already hardening cock. “When you gonna learn to always keep an ace up your sleeve?”

“You dirty little…I’m gonna take that out on your ass later.” Sam smirked back.

“Maybe. But right now you are gonna take it out on my dick. You said winner gets whatever he wants right? Oh Sammy… the things I want from you…” He pulled Sam over to him, “The things I’m gonna make you do."

♡♡♡

“You had me worried! Pull those jeans down, I’m gonna smack that pretty ass ‘til you’re sorry.”

Dean was wearing the very shirt he had on when they had been on the kitsune hunt. Sam too was wearing the very jeans he had been wearing that day, only now they were dropped to his knees, as his brother pulled him back until his legs were in between Dean’s spread ones.

Dean let his heavy hand swing down and smack directly against Sam’s willing ass, hard enough to leave red finger prints marred across the cheek. He admired it for a moment and then slapped against him twice more in quick succession until Sam’s back arched.

You sorry yet?” Dean smiled as he started kissing down Sam’s backside, his tongue starting to lick at the base of Sam’s spine and sink lower. Sam moaned and shook his head yes, but Dean let his hand smack down against the reddening globes of his ass again anyway.

“What was that one for?” Sam asked breathily, looking over his shoulder.

“Well, now I’m punishing you for making me all hot for you while we are on a case,” He smacked Sam’s ass again, but then he leaned down and sunk his teeth against the tender skin. “I love your ass, I just want to fuck every fucking fuckable part of your whole gorgeous fucking body.”

Fantasy Sam laughed as the real Sam would have at just how many fucks Dean could fit in a sentence.

♡♡♡

Sam had finished stitching Dean up and was running his hands over Dean’s sides, checking him for injuries. Dean’s breathing started to get labored at the feel of Sam’s gentle touch against him.

“Sam…” He said his voice full of want. Sam looked up at him, his fingers still tracing along Dean’s ribs. “You have to stop, you’re getting me all...”

Sam’s hands traced down over the swelling hardness in his jeans. “I’m going to make you feel better, Dean,” he tugged at his zipper, “all better…”

♡♡♡

Dean was in his head as he was just a short time ago, being pinned by Sam while another memory Sam below him wrapped around him from behind. Sam and Sam. A Sam sandwich.

The memory turned fantasy…

“What am I going to have to do? Fuck you into consciousness, Dean?” the Sam on top of him began to slide down his body, rough and ripping Dean’s shirt as he went. The Sam underneath him pinned his legs to the floor and grabbed onto his arms, holding him down and open for the Sam on top to unbuckle his jeans. Bottom Sam began rutting against his ass, and whispering filth into his ear. “We are both going to fuck you, Dean.”

The lights flickered and the black door appeared, pulling him out of fantasy.

“Get the hell off me, ginormo!”

♡♡♡

“You want me to beg, Dean? Hell, I’ll get on my knees and beg you. I’ll do whatever you want!”

An image of Sam in his knees, begging for a taste of Dean’s cum made the black door appear again.

♡♡♡

Dean was sitting on a motel bed, as other fantasy Deans and Sams around him were playing out his desires, but he remained alone, just watching. An electrical zing went through the air in the room and a Sam suddenly appeared next to him, stretched out across the bed, his eyes closed. Real Dean turned, and as if he was hypnotized, magnetized, his body moved until he was laid out on top of Sam, pressing his weight against him, in absolute euphoria to the touch. He ran his fingers through his hair and bent to kiss him.

Lips almost touching, close enough that Sam’s breath is mingling with his own, he stopped, his eyes going wide. “ _Sam_?”

He went white and then jumped off the bed, backing away from it. The black door was standing open in the room, and he pulled at the fantasies around him, sending all the other Sams and Deans back through the door. Just as he was closing it, Dark Dean pushed his way through and inside the motel room. He walked straight towards Sam, sunk over the bed and looked down at him.

“Oh god! He’s here. In here, inside us.” Dark Dean said as he bent to kiss him, but Real Dean grabbed him and pulled him away.

“Let’s kiss him, let’s hold him down and kiss him, let’s make him ours.” Dark Dean’s voice was all lust and longing.

“I’d never do that. I’d never hurt Sam,” Dean pushed his desire in bodily form back to the door.

“Not going to hurt him, going to kiss him, make him feel so good. Oh God, can’t you feel him? His mind with ours? How can you possibly fight it?”

“Because we can’t have him! He doesn’t want us.”

“I’m going to kiss him until he wants it!” He let out a humorless laugh at his own scandalized face looking back at him.

Dean growled. “No! We aren’t going to lay a finger on him. You are going to go back behind that sick fucking door, and leave us alone. I’ll kill us before we ever hurt Sam.” He shoved Dark Dean through the door and slammed it.

Dark Dean whispered through the door undeterred, “We can’t kill ourselves from inside, and you won’t be able to resist forever. That monster left you weak, and Sam feels too good this close. All you can do is run and hide. Hide how bad we want him. Try not to think about it, Dean.” He laughed. “Try not to think about the only thing we can think about anymore...”

Dean slammed the door a few more times until the black door turned back into the regular motel door. Dean began pacing, terrified of himself, of his thoughts, of Sam finding out. Real Sam moved his head waking up.

♡♡♡

Sam was at the bus station, the last time he had seen Dean before he left for Stanford. He had snuck out early that night and hitched, arriving at the bus station before dawn. Dean had known his plans and showed up at the station anyway. He pulled up in the Impala and waited until Sam reluctantly got in, for only a moment. They sat in silence. “Bye, Sam,” Dean finally managed and Sam got out of the car without a word.

In Dean’s head the memory started out the same, only it didn’t end that way...

Fantasy Sam was making the most obscene noises as he rode his brother’s cock in the front seat of the Impala. Dean pushed up into him with abandon for a moment, then his face turned away, even being buried in Sam, Dean still looked heartbroken and sick with grief.

The Sam in his lap pulled his head up and looked into his eyes. “I’ll never leave you Dean. I’ll stay and be yours. Forever.” He punctuated each vow with a deep downwards thrust of his body enveloping Dean further inside his tight heat and planting fevered kisses against his mouth.

Dean pulled at him then, not wanting even an inch of space between them, as if that small distance might be enough to separate them forever.

“Yes,” Dean gasped against his throat, “Be mine Sam, please, please, be mine Sam, please.”

“I’m yours,” Sam whispered and Dean cried out his hips bucking and lifting Sam.

“Mine! Mine mine– I love you!”

***

Sam, the real and true Sam, finally managed to turn away from the constant flash of fantasies streaming endlessly before him. He was trying not to laugh or scream or just fall down and cry.

“Fuck,” he finally settled on.

Every Dean in every fantasy turned to face him. “Sam!” was sung out in unison and it roared through the space, shaking the world of Dean’s head.

In the next instant Sam’s skin felt like it was blazing with the heat of Dean all around him. He inhaled, the scent hitting him as if there was more Dean than air. It smelled of body warmed leather and the road, sex incarnate, hints of whiskey, something sweet like cherry pie, earth, blood, gunpowder …but over all this there was the rugged indefinable scent that was only Dean. His skin, his breath, his being.

Sam opened his eyes and stared. Green eyes in emerald, absinth, clover, candy apple, grass, mint, jade, jungle, in every shade he had ever known them, was before him now. Plump kiss begging lips and the flash of white teeth beyond, his cut jaw, strong shoulders, searching hands, perfect nose, taunt muscles, endless scores of barely there freckles everywhere he looked. All that was before him was Dean.

Dean’s lips found his skin, every single inch all at once, his mouth was against every piece of flesh of Sam’s body. Hundreds of ghost like hands touched him at once, gripped his cock simultaneously, fingertips in all states of pressure stroked him. Hands held his arms out, his legs spread, pulled him in all directions. Hundreds of hands where in his hair, pulling, playing, brushing away bangs. Mouths licked and sucked his every inch. Dean’s hot tongue, thick fingers, thicker cock, all entering and fucking and loving his ass at once. He was covered in Dean, filled with him, surrounded until his every sense overloaded.

Too much, it was far too much. _Everything_ was Dean.

Dark Dean’s hands were on him, above everything else all the other endless strokes and touches, Sam felt his fingers caress his face. He leaned up until he was an inch from Sam’s lips. “I want you!” Sam felt the words with his whole body, the pure essence of Dean’s desire engulfing him as Dean leaned in to finally let himself kiss Sam…

Sam threw his head back. He felt like he was indeed now laughing and screaming and crying all at once. But above all else he was most definitely coming.

His whole body tightened, threads of pleasure uncoiling in him, snapping until he could not stand to hold it back. He let it tear through him and out, until he was pulsing and spilling hot and wet against Dean.

He barely had a second until it built up instantly, rising, ripping, burning with an intense pleasure and coming impossibly hard a second time. He came seconds after, and again. Kept on until he could no longer tell if he was still on his feet or if he was on the ground, or if he was on the fucking moon.

He was coming as if he was the Sam in every one of those fantasies, all at once.

Every time he couldn’t have anything left, he couldn’t possibly, the pleasure jolted and rolled. Sam was coming while buried in Dean’s warm mouth, his spend falling across his chest, his face, through his fingers. It went on until Sam was writhing, until it turned into one endless thrum of insatiable ecstasy, until he felt like he may be coming his very life out.

Everything was too intense, too hot, too much, too too _too_! His eyes flared wide as he was dragged to hell, flung through heaven, reincarnated a thousand times over, but always as Sam. Sam _for_ Dean. His entire self felt like it burst, he was climaxing, coming until he thought his body must certainly be flying apart, a teeny piece of Sam for each and every Dean so desperately wanting him.

_“God! **DEAN!** ”_ he finally let the scream rip from him.

Everything went to sparks, flashes, sizzling away until there was nothing left of anything...

***

“Sammy? I’m sorry.” It was just one voice now, just one set of arms wrapped around him. Sam opened his eyes and looked up at his brother who was holding him protectively against his chest. They sat on the floor of the room which was completely empty now but for the two of them. The shame, the sickness, the fear, and the love were all in Dean’s face. His soul was bared with nothing left to hide, and he was waiting for it. Waiting for Sam to take a swing, to recoil in disgust, to hate him, to leave him.

Sam heard strange sounds buzzing around his head as he tried to focus, but he couldn’t place what they were.

“I tried to stop it. I couldn’t control my thoughts, you were too close. I tried. God, I was really trying. I’m sorry Sam, I’m sorry so so sorry,” Dean looked like he wanted to die.

Sam on the other hand couldn’t seem to get any words out at all. His whole being was so fucked out he didn’t think there were any words left in his head. He squeezed Dean’s shoulder to try to communicate. “Dean,” he said over the whispers around them, but nothing followed it.

“The wires just got crossed in my head somewhere along the way and I… I don’t know how to fix it, Sam. I’m sorry. Oh god I’m sorry! M’ sorry. M’ sorry,” Dean held him and said he was sorry in an endless stream, crying words instead of tears.

Suddenly Sam could hear it clearly and understood why things were slowing and his mind slurring. The strange sounds, they were whispers…the words of the spell to return him to the waking world were being chanted.

_Not yet!_ He wanted to cry out, but knew it wouldn’t do any good, since Bobby couldn’t hear him on the other side. Sam’s mind suddenly kicked into overdrive. He grabbed Dean’s face with his hands. His brother’s eyes were pure self hatred now.

“Dean,” he begged, pouring all the love he had in his whole body into the name and fighting to get any other words out. “S’okay. Want you to wake up for me. Please wake up for _ME._ ”

Dean leaned down and placed a kiss chastely on Sam’s cheek and then whispered into his ear.

_Sam’s eyes snap open._

The ceiling of Bobby’s house slowly swimming into focus, the smell of that god awful tea still in the air, as his body slowly woke. He rolled his head to the side. Dean was lying on the bed across from him, his face slack, body motionless. Tears welled up and rolled down Sam’s cheeks before he could stop them.

“Are you with me, son?” Bobby asked from the foot of the bed, a tone of worry evident in his voice.

“I screwed it up, Bobby.” His chest hitching, his breathing ragged. “Dean…isn’t waking up.”

He knew he couldn’t go back in Dean’s head now, he wouldn’t let him in again. Dean had only let him in this time to say…

Bobby frowned, “What’d he tell you?”

“Goodbye.”

 

 

To Be Continued.


	9. Dreams of Dragon's Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,  
> in secret, between the shadow and the soul.”  
> ― Pablo Neruda

Dean didn’t know where he was.

He looked around for a moment, dazed. He was in a place like nowhere he had ever been before or even imagined. He was pretty sure his grip of reality was slipping. Had slipped.

He closed his eyes again. He didn’t care. All he knew was that Sam was gone.

Some part of him wishes he pulled the trigger when he had the chance. For a second sitting outside that motel, his father’s words playing in his head, he really thought he could do it. One bullet and let that be the end of it. But then he looked up and saw Sam. The thought of being anywhere without him, even going into death, terrified Dean so completely, that he dropped the gun. Just as well, blood and brain spattered across his Baby wasn’t really his style anyway…

But now it would never be _them_ again. It would never be Sam, the Impala, music and the road. It would never be the dimple on Sam’s cheek when he smiled and rolled his eyes at one of Dean’s jokes. Never the calm that came from hearing Sam’s soft breathing in the night, letting Dean know they had made it through another day. No, even if he woke up now it would only ever be this strange thing between them. Until it turned into hate, until it turned into Sam leaving him all over again.

Now that Sam had seen all the _sickbadwrong_ going on in his mind, was it too much to hope that maybe the kid would take pity on him out there and smother him with a goddamned pillow?

Dean opened his eyes and looked around again. He was in a large room with tall walls in the same shade of green as his eyes. All the surfaces were covered in softness like rabbit fur. There were chairs, he was sitting in one he realized, a plush oversized chair covered in the same smooth downiness that was blanketing the room. Everything was calm, peaceful, the colors earthy. There was no roof to the room, and above him was an endless sunny blue with two suns chasing each other slowly across the sky. The air was warm and a gentle breeze stirred around his body. The place was strange but there was an undeniable feel to it. A… Sam-ness.

That thought made Dean angry with himself. He couldn’t imagine a worse enough hell for himself, but he was trying, yeah, he was doing his damndest… He closed his eyes and tried to will himself back to where he was only a moment ago before the green room.

When Sam had vanished he wanted to scream for him to come back, do whatever he wanted to him –torture him, hate him– only be with him! But it was all his own fault, he deserved this. Oh, how he wanted to bleed, and here in his mind he felt every deserved wound he inflicted as if they were the real thing. The only difference was he could do it again and again in endless nightmares of his own making. Dean had taken that bullet to the head now, dozens of times.

The air around him had rippled until the flames of hatred had burned so hot for himself that his entire world lit on fire and he let himself burn right along with it. The black door burned and burned on, but never vanished. He put himself back together and then tore himself apart piece by piece, ripping into every part that had ever thought an impure thing about his little brother. He sliced and peeled until his hands were bloody and raw, until he resembled the monster outside he felt he was within. But still the black door remained. He bolted it, locked it, flung his still beating heart at it, but it was no use. His love of Sam could never be removed, not with a thousand bullets, the hottest fires, the most wicked blades. It was a part of him more than any other piece. It was as simple and as maddening as that.

He had just put himself back together yet again and was about to start in on another torturous nightmare when he opened his eyes and found himself in the strange green room instead. He closed his eyes, opened them, closed them again. He was probably just camped out in crazy town.

“Doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now.” He said ominously to himself.

“It matters to me,” a voice replied.

Sam was sitting on the floor at his feet looking up at him, with a smile.

His dopey, gorgeous little geek boy! He wanted to openly fall to the floor and scoop Sam into his arms, to hug him, to breathe in all the pure clean Sammy scent his lungs can hold. But he wouldn’t. Never again for as long as this existence goes on will he ever let himself touch Sam again. Not even in dreams. Dean cried now. _Like a fucking girl._

“Shh,” Sam said soothingly, reaching for him, but Dean recoiled. Jumping to his feet he went as far away from Sam as the room would allow. This was a worse hell than all the pain he had been coming up with previously. _Good job brain, you are a sadistic bastard after all, because seeing Sam here is too damn much._

He leaned against the green wall, trying to stop himself from crying, but it seemed just to make it worse. He felt something under his fingers. His and Sam’s initials were carved all over the walls like they had carved them into the Impala as kids. He couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand being in this place. It was officially beyond the limit of pain Dean could handle. He looked around the room for an escape. He saw a door and made a beeline for it, swung it open and stepped through. He looked around only to find himself back in the same green room with his brother.

“Please stop,” Sam said, but Dean went through the door again with the same results. He kept going through the door over and over again. Finally letting out a frustrated cry, he slammed it violently until it came off its hinges.

Sam looked sad when he finally managed to calm down enough to look at him again, and it only made Dean want to run to his side to comfort him.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam said with real regret written all over his perfect, beautiful face.

Dean wiped at his tears with the back of his hand and then looked at him completely confused, no idea why Sam would be apologizing to him. His feet took a few steps towards Sam, before the anger flared up at himself again. “No!” Dean bellowed at himself, reaching up his hands to pull manically at his hair, clawing at himself.

“Stop!” Sam yelled, on his feet, his tall body right there, grabbing Dean’s wrists.

Dean flailed backwards to get away from Sam’s touch, the touch he couldn’t permit himself. He stumbled, lost his footing, his arms and legs flying into the air, in honestly what would probably have look like a comedy if anything about this was funny. Just before he completely lost balance, a chair appeared and he landed softly on it with a surprised huff. His eyebrows shot up and he looked around even more confused, looked up at Sam’s smirk, then finally closed his eyes and started to mumble horrible places he wanted to be.

“You are inside _my_ head now,” Sam said calmly. “So stop trying to beam yourself out of here Scotty.”

His brother was all curled up at his feet again, looking like the most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen, ever will see. He knew it for a fact too, as he tried to find beauty out there in so many places before. There were good looking women in a pretty consistent flow in Dean’s life, but none of them were beautiful the way Sam was. He’d trade every piece of lingerie he had ever seen for one of Sam’s plaid shirts. Dean even sought out a man or two before, but lost his nerve to do more than flirt or, okay, have them on the other side of a three way with a girl. He especially lost the nerve once he realized he only seemed to go after the same type of too tall, shaggy haired men, and then he was back to being sick with himself all over again. His mind always came straight back to Sam no matter who he tried to fill those empty places in himself with.

None of the people he as he ever met could make him happy just by existing, just by sitting in a car with him, just by being in a room together. None of them could turn him on with a single smile. Make his heart swell just by a touch. None could make him so exasperated, frustrated, crazy, angry, and so in love all in the same exact instant. No one but Sam. No one made him whole but his brother. _God, these shouldn’t be my thoughts, but they just are._

“This is really you?” he finally asked.

“Yeah, Dean. It’s me. Bobby found a way. Doesn’t he always?” Sam smiled.

Of course it was really him, as all of his dream Sams still paled in comparison to the actual article, but Dean still had to ask, still needs that reassurance that he was really with him again, that he wasn’t alone.

“I’m sick, Sam,” Dean finally managed, his voice rougher than normal from crying. He never cried in front of Sam, it was a rule he made for himself, but everything else was broken, so why not that too.

“You’re not. It’s all right,” Sam reached for Dean’s hands, but stopped as Dean pulled away from him again.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that to you, I am so sorry.”

“There is nothing for you to apologize for.”

Sam snorts in reply. “Yes there is, I went into your private thoughts against your will. I shouldn’t have, but you don’t know–”

Dean cut him off. “Like I said, you have nothing to be sorry for. Those perverted thoughts shouldn’t even be in my head.”

Sam got those little worry creases between his eyebrows then, like he always did when he was thinking hard. Dean loved those little creases.

“Is that why…” Sam said and paused, looking up at him. “That is why Dad hit you isn’t it? Because of me. I should have known.”

Dean’s face fell at the mention of their father. Sam knew everything and yet was sitting here talking like he didn’t hate him, so he would tell him anything he wanted to know.

“We were, and, I uh, I,” he stuttered, still embarrassed, even though Sam had just witnessed half his filthy thoughts in a single go, literally felt them all. His whole body flushed in embarrassment at the thought.

He steeled himself. If he was going to do this he was going to do it the way he did everything in life, running in with guns blazing. He took a deep breath and just let it all pour out.

“He had his suspicions for a long time I guess. I’m not really sure how, I made damn sure I didn’t do anything about what was going on in my head, but I suppose he took one look at my guilty face and just… knew. He stopped making us share beds, watched me whenever you were in the room,” Dean swallowed, shame overtaking all his features.

“When I met him in Mississippi, we took care of the case in an hour. I think it was because he hadn’t really called me there for that. He started talking about maybe it being time me and you went our separate ways. About you hunting on your own to cover more cases at once, and it just messed up my already messed up head. It was the first time in years I’ve flat out said no to him. He kept insisting, said it was an order, and got pissed when I said no again. He shoved me a few times, we both said a bunch of crap and he left. It just got to the point I couldn’t think straight any more. I was just missing you so much, and the thought of you going… I’m just seriously fucked up, okay? It was, uh, laundry day, I just thought, uh, it was a way to, I had some of your clothes, but it wasn’t like, I mean it is, but not like…” The words are tumbling out of his mouth half-formed.

He took a deep breath through his nose and calmed himself. “He came back in, he actually picked the damn lock. He… heard me saying, um, saw me, saw me making your dirty clothes …uh… dirtier.”

If he could have sunk through the floor he would have, right through the center of the earth and kept on going until he came right out the other side and then only stopping when he drifted off to space, where the size of his enormous humiliation and self-disgust would spread out and fill the universe.

His head snapped up, “It wasn’t like I would ever, _ever_ lay a hand on you, Sam. You have to know that I’d never hurt you, I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

“I know that, Dean. You haven’t hurt me. I–” Sam tried, but Dean cut him off.

“And I don’t know why I did it, but I told him that I was… in love with…anyway, I made it worse and he went ballistic. Started beating the hell out of me. I let him ‘cause I deserve it. He said he would never let us near each other again. He held the knife to my throat. I thought he was going to kill me. I think I really wanted him to.”

Sam tried objecting but Dean continued on.

“But then I realized he wasn’t trying to kill me, he was just going to cut the cord of your amulet off my neck. And I just, I fucking snapped. I hit him. I mean really hit him. His feet came out from under him. John Winchester, unprepared.” Dean almost laughed at that.

“I bolted, I got into the Impala before he knew what was happening and I got back to you before he did. That is why I kept us moving, changing hotels. I know he is going to find us. I can’t stay on the run from dad forever. And I don’t know how to be without you, Sam. I can’t do it again. When that monster got the jump on me, I realized pretty quickly that I was in my head, and I fought it best I could. I made sure I listened to every word it said trying to find a way out. The times it entered my head to try and drain me, he always chanted the same words which seemed to put me under deeper, so I just memorized them, I said them over and over to myself."

Sam tried to speak, tried to reach up a hand but Dean flinched, so he set his hand back down in his lap, finally resigned to letting Dean finish.

“I knew Bobby would come, he had to come. I knew you’d be all right or it didn’t matter what happened to me anyway. I figured with the Sandman’s spell still on me, and me knowing the chants now, I could stay asleep for good. You’d be better off, and maybe Dad would just let it alone, cause what is the point killing a guy in a coma, right? I know you care about me. You’ll always be my brother, and you are just here to try to get me to wake up. You’ll say it doesn’t matter right now, but it does. I have to protect you, even from myself. You are better off as far away from me as possible.” Dean could feel his entire being protest at just the words of being without Sam spoken out loud.

“Done?” Sam asked.

Dean nodded his head.

As if Sam had been a giant spring that had suddenly been released, he flew up from the floor and threw himself at Dean, his whole body falling on to him at once.

Dean thought Sam was attacking him, and he grabbed his arms, but Sam just let him and instead pushed the rest of his body against Dean’s until they were as flush against one another as he could possibly get them. Dean had vowed that he’d never touch Sam again, but it is hard to argue with a giant moose in your lap.

“You idiot!” Sam laughed. Laughed and kissed Dean right on the lips!

It wasn’t a chaste kiss either, it was an excited, clumsy, perfectly imperfect _real_ kiss.

Dean’s eyes went wide with shock. Total confusion followed a second behind the knowledge that Sam was kissing him. He let go of his wrists, and pushed at him, but Sam wrapped his arms around him. “No, Sam!” Dean unsuccessfully tried to yell against his brother’s eager mouth.

Sam let his tongue slip past Dean’s lips stopping the protesting words from coming out. Everything in Dean’s body melted at the feeling and his eyes fell closed.

Sam’s tongue licked wet and warm at his own, the kiss finding its stride until it turned into the most passionate kiss Dean had ever known. The sensations made Dean’s whole body go soft and hard at once. Then he found himself completely pulled up in Sam’s arms, his head tipped back until Sam had full access to take exactly what he wanted from his lips. Which turned out to be Dean’s heart, soul and last working brain cell. Heaven help him, he kissed Sam back.

 

 

To be continued…


	10. Exit Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You always hurt the one you love  
> The one you shouldn't hurt at all  
> You always take the sweetest rose  
> And crush it till the petals fall  
> You always break the kindest heart  
> With a hasty word you can't recall  
> So If I broke your heart last night  
> It's because I love you most of all  
> ~ The Mills Brothers

Dean was in Sam’s arms and was being kissed. And kissed. And kissed. And…what the hell was going on?

Dean’s head was tipped back against Sam’s strong arm, while the thumb of his other hand stroked softly along his jaw. The contrast did all sorts of squirrely things to Dean’s whole body as Sam continued to kiss him. Sam leaned in with his knees on the chair, not quite all the way in his lap. Dean didn’t know what to do with his hands. They hovered over Sam’s sides without touching. There were too many questions. Dean twisted and turned his head, and for a moment Sam’s lips just followed. He kept going until he finally wriggled himself free.

"Sam, just-"

"No, you _just_." He said pressing his lips right back against Dean’s.

Dean’s hands finally encircled Sam’s hips and pulled him closer. The world of Sam’s head turned all dreamy colors before it broke out in silent little fireworks all around them. He let his eyes fall closed again. Sam owned his mouth, let his lips play and suck against his all he wanted, and there wasn’t much Dean could do. Not that he was complaining, it was just…Seriously, what was happening? Wasn’t Sam normally the one that wanted to talk? He wasn’t a man of action, he was all repression and…how is he doing that with his tongue…oh god, please never let him stop doing that...

Unable to handle more without knowing, he finally begged between Sam’s lips, “Sammy, please.” The fiery light around them burned down and Sam released him, but not before laying another kiss on each side of his still stunned face. Then, without a word he smacked Dean hard upside the head.

“Ow! What the hell?” He said in surprise.

“You don’t just get to check out on me, Dean! If you ever do something like that again I will _kick your ass_. I mean, what the hell were you thinking? A gun! And then staying in your head. Because what, being a martyr is easier than talking to me? And I would have never known that you…” And suddenly he was back to kissing him again.

From a kiss to a smack to a kiss. Dean felt like his head was spinning. But Sam kissed him with such heat that Dean finally didn’t care if he was in fact losing his mind. Screw reality. If insanity involved Sam’s lips, then let him be mad!

When Sam finally managed to pull away again, they were both panting and as breathless as if they had just outrun a nest of vampires.

He was still staring at Dean’s lips while he spoke, “I never imagined. I never thought for a second that you would actually want me like I’ve always wanted you.” Sam was excitedly laughing now, with a fervor usually reserved for lottery winners or children on Christmas morning. “I know it is crazy, but I am so damn in love with you!”

Dean closed his eyes tight and turned his head away before Sam could kiss him again. This couldn’t be real. That couldn’t be Sam. Being without him had somehow finally broken Dean’s brain for good. A part of his mind must have snapped off from the logical bits and brought him back without his say-so and now he was dreaming Sam up, still in his head… tormenting himself. There just wasn’t any other explanation for what was happening. Sam didn’t feel that way about him, Dean was painfully aware of how Sam felt.

“I’m real, Dean,” Sam said exasperated, reading his expression.

Nope. Not real. Though he still couldn’t explain how this Sam felt unlike any of the others, didn’t feel like the lacking ghosts of his brother haunting his head. How only this Sam satisfied the down deep want inside of him. But Dean kept his eyes shut tight. He strained and tried to think himself out of there, to anywhere else.

“Okay, fine. You want beamed out of here so badly?” Sam grinned, “Just remember payback is only fair.”

He snapped his fingers.

He and Dean were standing in a small tiled, steam filled room. “Ohh, smart college boy doesn’t need doors, he…” Dean couldn’t help the tease but as he looked in front of him all of his wise ass comments dried right the hell up.

Their childhood selves in a bubble bath, in all their naked glory, were before him. He was no more than 13 years old max, with every freckle exactly where it should be. “Dee, I want you to kiss me,” the young naked Sammy sitting opposite him in the bathtub said.

They did use to take baths together, Sam would bug him until he’d give in when they were kids, and he did use to ask Dean to kiss him but it was brotherly on the forehead, as Dean helped wash him.

Young fantasy Dean leaned forward without hesitation and kissed Sam on the lips. Sam giggled as he put his small arm on Dean’s neck, keeping him close. “I want you to kiss me here,” Sam’s soapy right hand pointed to his small chest where his heart was. “Yeah?” young Dean asked and Sam nodded his rosy face. Dean smiled and put his lips on Sam’s bath damp skin and kissed him there. Sammy got up on his knees in the tub and pointed at his belly button. Dean pulled him in to his much bigger body and leaned his head down and kissed his belly. Sam’s hand went lower…

If Dean was 13 that would make the very naked Sammy now pressed up against young fantasy him… well way too damn young to be doing _that_!

Dean looked away embarrassed, confused.

Sam chuckled at him, “So yeah, I thought about you like that first. Long before the idea made even the slightest appearance in your head. Remember when we use to play cops and robbers and I always wanted to be the robber? It is because I liked you tying me up. I use to imagine you’d tie me up and kiss me. I use to imagine you crawling into my bed at night. I’d say I had nightmares so I could crawl into yours. All my first fantasies were about you. So don’t you dare forget it now.”

The look on Dean’s face, he knows, must have been the most dumbfounded expression he ever wore in his life. His mind was racing through thousands of thoughts and emotions at once. His eyebrows shot up, then he scowled, and then smiled. He probably looked as crazy as he felt. _Had Sam really been having all the same feelings all these years? Had he actually wanted him? This was wrong. It didn’t feel wrong. Fuck, it didn’t feel wrong, and that was wrong. Goodgod, Sam is so hot. No, can’t be true. I would have known. Let’s just pretend it is true._ Lust and pain suddenly vie for the reins of his brain, but suffering always seems to win for Dean.

“Come on, you can’t expect me to believe that can you?” he said finally, pointing at the scene, “Dude, I know what you are up to. You’re just trying to make your pervert brother not want to stay in sleep mode. I get it, Sam.”

Sam let out a huff. “Well…at least we are past you thinking I’m not real. That is progress, I guess.”

There were some serious sounds happening between the Wee-chesters and Dean’s head turned without his fucking permission. He whipped his eyes back away and he clamped his hands over his ears, he so did not want to be getting turned on from that. He could see Sam laughing, even if he couldn’t really hear him. Sam pulled a hand away from his ear and said “prude,” before snapping his fingers again.

They were in the green room once more, Sam’s little worry creases back, obviously trying to think of ways to show Dean he meant what he was saying.

Dean was trying to think of ways to make him just say the truth and stop this torment. He knew what Sam was up to now, and he couldn’t stand it.

“Yeah, well if you meant it…” Dean started, but couldn’t get the rest out.

“Come on, no secrets between us anymore. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“Fine. If you meant it, if you…want me like you are saying, then when you went behind my door why did you pull my hand away?”

Sam’s answering laugh was full of amusement. “Because I was in shock. All of this dream stuff is really confusing, you know? Especially in that chaos you call a brain. That version of you came walking towards me like… well I thought you wanted to murder me, not fuck me.”

Dean blushed. He had never been this consistently red faced in his life, all while Sam seemed to be enjoying himself thoroughly, biting his bottom lip, trying not to smile.

A mischievous grin danced over Sam’s face and he snapped his fingers. Dark Dean was standing before them, all in black, just as Sam remembered him. “You won’t kiss me? I’m pretty sure your hornier half will.”

“Knock it off Sam.” Dean shifted, embarrassed.

He pulled in Dark Dean, who seemed all too delighted about it. “What? You think I didn’t want this version of you. But that’s not true. I want all versions of you. The angry you, the sad you. I’m going to make you come until there is nothing but happy versions of you left.”

Dean almost choked. Sam was so candid about it all. He honestly didn’t know how to deal with this shift in their dynamic, where Sam was the one with zero shame and Dean was the one left speechless.

“Evil you is kind of kinky and hot, but you believing you are actually evil because of what you feel about me. I mean seriously, a black door? You are hereby banned from listening to the Rolling Stones, Dean.” He snapped his fingers again and Dark Dean was wearing his regular colored clothes and looking much more like his doppelganger.

“Better, much better,” but more mischief blossomed is in his eyes as he looked Dean up and down. “But…” He snapped his fingers one more time and Sam’s version of Dark Dean was stripped of all his layers, completely naked.

“Whoa,” Both Deans said at once.

Sam had already gone through his fantasies, so it isn’t like this should be shocking, but it still totally was. He looked over his own naked form before him, his eyes getting stuck to the part where Sam’s hand was resting against his double’s bare chest.

“You weren’t paying that close of attention in my head, were you?” He deflected everything rising in him with a joke.

Sam raised an eyebrow as he looked back at naked Dean, then let out a laugh. “Really? I thought you were just exaggerating.” Sam let out a breathy little noise as his hand dropped down and he ran a finger up Dark Dean’s hard length and it increased in size. The visual also had a similar effect on the Real Dean, excitement running through him, his dick completely interested in this turn of events.

“Warmer.” Dean couldn’t believe he just said that, couldn’t believe any of this was happening.

“Well, now you are just bragging.” Then Sam’s voice turned naughty, “You could…show me.”

Dean let out a sharp little noise that was embarrassingly close to a squeak, which he tried to cover with a cough. “Don’t even think about snapping those fingers at me.”

And if this wasn’t the weirdest conversation he ever had in his damn lifetime of weird conversations. Sam watched him, waiting, but Dean made no move as he had no clue how to process everything that was happening.

“Well, some Dean here is going to kiss me!” Sam pulled in Dark Dean, who gave no protests as he finally got the kiss he was after.

The visual of his own naked form pressed against the fully clothed Sammy short circuited Dean’s already malfunctioning brain. He just sat, a chair luckily appearing behind him again, or he would have flopped all the way to the floor. It was like watching a sex tape he and Sam made, without ever having actually made one. He was mesmerized. That is until Sam’s hands started moving down the other Dean’s back and jealousy suddenly shot through Real Dean. Could you be jealous of a fantasy of yourself? He wasn’t about to open that metaphysical can of worms, but he was going to get to his feet and pull that horny bastard off Sam, but just then Sam stepped away and Dark Dean vanished.

“Nah, my imagination can’t do it justice,” Sam said, walking towards Dean.

“I think I recall you saying I needed to fuck you into consciousness?” Two other identical Sam’s were on their knees at Dean’s side without warning, their hands curling around his arms, holding them down against the arms of the fuzzy chair. Real Sam’s clothes melted off him until he was wearing nothing but a dark red pair of boxer briefs. He strode forward looking like the best sin Dean ever wanted to commit. Sam had no business looking that good, no one did.

Dean wanted something, anything, to stop Sam right now. Could he wish a sudden migraine into Sam’s own head? Could he send out the bat signal with his thoughts?

He couldn’t believe Sam would take the charade this far. “I’ll wake up, Sam!” He yelled, thinks he yelled anyway. Sam didn’t seem to hear him, and Dean couldn’t hear anything over the frantic beating of his own heart.

Sam moved forward until he was standing over him, his legs open, his bare thighs pressed to the outside of Dean’s still jean clad knees. Just that small contact made all Dean’s blood vanish, it was just guilt and desire pounding through his veins. Sam sunk down onto his lap.

“Sam, no,” Dean meant to say seriously, but it came out in more like a breathy _god yes_.

Sam leaned in further, pressing his warm body against Dean’s helpless one, his hands against his chest, the touch so charged he thought it should be burning holes right through his shirt and into his skin.

“I’d stop if I thought you actually meant that,” Sam said. “But I know for a fact that you don’t.”

Dark Dean was suddenly behind the chair Real Dean was sitting in and began kissing his neck and running his own hands up his own sides, while the other two Sams began kissing down his arms, and sucking his fingers. Real Sam began to kiss his face. It was erotic and weird, okay, seriously fucking bizarre and all kinds of wrong and…and Dean liked it. He fucking loved it. He couldn’t fight how much every part of him wanted Sam, even if he didn’t think Sam really wanted him.

“Don’t,” He managed to get out but still let Sam run a hand into his hair and tug his head back.

“Seriously, Sammy, stop.” He let him lean in for a kiss, parted his lips for it even, and Sam slid his tongue back into his mouth. His lips moved like magic, making all Dean’s thoughts disappear.

“ _Please_ —” Dean managed to pant into Sam’s mouth, but not sure what it was he was asking for anymore.

“Yes,” was all Sam replied.

He couldn’t help but close his eyes and let himself feel it all. The perfect pressure, the shape of Sam’s mouth, the way they fit against each other like Sam was his missing puzzle piece.

When Sam rocked forward in his lap, slow and gentle, Dean’s face went hot with shame. Shame that Sam felt like he had to do this in order to wake him up, and that Dean still wanted it knowing that fact. Shame that he was letting it go this far. But he couldn’t help how Sam’s body against him made his cock fatten up and ache for it, or how his traitorous body was trembling under Sam’s touch, giving him away, making all the contrary words he was saying even more meaningless. Sam shouldn’t have been everything he ever wanted.

Please, please, just let his brain shut up now and let him have this. Let him have Sam kissing him like he was just dosed with succubus venom, his hands moving slowly over the t-shirt on his chest and up until they are gripping tight on his shoulders, so hard he could still feel them through the leather of his jacket. Let him have his brother’s perfect ass pressed into his lap, snugged right up onto him until his weight is resting in all the right places. Please let him have the most horrible teasing amount of friction against his hard cock as Sam barely moved his body on top of him. Please, fuck, hell, god, _just let him have this!_

“I’ve always wanted you Dean, forever,” Sam whispered. Dean abruptly, and unhappily, bucked him off his lap. Sam stumbled off him.

“Stop it. Now.” The hurt and anger officially found their way to his voice as reality came crashing back into Dean’s head. He pulled out of the grasp of their doubles and they all vanished.

“You don’t get to make stuff up, say that kind of thing to me. You left! You were gone, gonna live your perfect little _normal_ life. So you can just stop all this bullshit right now. Just because you barged your way into my head doesn’t mean I want this.” The hell he didn’t. He was still so turned on, even though he was angry now the rest of his body didn’t get the memo. Fight and fuck were too closely related, especially with all the crossed wiring in his head.

“I’m sorry. I’m not thinking straight,” Sam said, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was once again fully clothed. “I’m…I’m overeager. I know. I shouldn’t be all over you. I didn’t realize what it would feel like to have you in my mind like this, it’s really powerful and I’m just so…” He was laughing again, smiling goofily, “I’m excited. I mean, it isn’t like this happens every day!”

Sam snapped his fingers again.

Now they appeared to be back in Dean’s head for a moment. It always came down to that damn bus station. It was one of the worst nights in the endless bad nights that made up his life. Even his fantasies drifted to that moment though, rewrote history, made Sam his, convinced him whatever he found out there would never satisfy him like Dean could.

It took him a minute before he noticed all the slight changes of the scene. Yeah, Sam was soon riding him hard and good as ever in his wildest wettest sick dreams, but it was Sam looking heartbroken, and it was Dean making the promises. It was Dean saying he would never choose dad over Sam, never let Sam go alone, never let Sam go again period. It was Sam crying broken _I love yous_ into Dean. “Dean, say you’ll go with me,” fantasy Sam cried, “or god, Dean, don’t let me go!”

Real Dean shook his head and turned away from the scene. “I can’t handle this,” he tried to wave it and all the emotions it drudged up away. He couldn’t believe Sam would use this twisted open wound of a memory against him.

Sam looked stricken by Dean’s dismissal. “I was just trying to show you that we had the exact–”

“I’ll wake up, if that is what you really want. Fine, you win, okay? You win,” he muttered cutting him off. “But just stop all this. Stop lying to me.” He couldn’t even look at Sam now.

Sam tugged him back in and gave him an epic bitch-face. “Does it feel like I am just making this up to you?” He tried to press his lips back against Dean’s, successfully got half a kiss in before Dean shoved him away.

Dean wanted to stop fighting the endless river of feelings he always had for Sam, the current he’d never stopped swimming against his whole life. He wondered what would it even feel like to just stop? To give in to this, whatever this was that Sam was offering him?

_No, damn it! No. I gotta face the facts. Sam doesn’t want me. And certainly not like that._

He began to think about how Sam usually acted, rarely thinking about the long term consequences, as it seemed the ends always justified the means for him. That was just the way he had always been. And that is all that this was. It fit, it made sense. Sam was just acting without thinking it all through, stuck on the goal and not the process.

Dean let out a bitter laugh. He felt raw, vulnerable. “You are going to wreck me, Sam, and you seriously couldn’t care any less.”

Sam eyed him in confusion, like he didn’t know what he was talking about and that set Dean off.

“I’m gonna come out of this and what? What is the plan? Tell me it was just to wake me and to take a hike? Or worse, you are going to stay with your lunatic brother, pretending forever? I need to know which way you are going to play this. Or haven’t you thought that far ahead?”

“Goddamn it, Dean!” Sam yelled back. “Just because I don’t keep my feelings behind some locked door in my head doesn’t mean they’re not real. I’m not ashamed of us, of the way I feel about you. I never have been. So that is one door in your crazy little head that you need to get rid of already.”

“I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”

“No, but you are being a fucking emotional retard right now.”

“There we go. It’s me. It all makes perfect sense I’m just too dense to get it.” Dean was officially pissed off.

“I wasn’t saying that! You are the smartest person I know, other than when you are _choosing_ to be an idiot.” Sam tried to stop it from escalating, lowered his voice, “You just never stopped being my hero long enough for me to show you that I’d do anything for you too. You rarely ever give me the chance.”

“Is that what you are doing right now? Being my hero?”

“It isn’t like that!”

“Leaving my ass alone without so much as a ‘see ya later.’ There was your damned chance.” He hated that he said that. Hated the bitchy needy way it made him feel. Dean doesn’t do self-pity, but there it was. He was ready for this conversation to be over. He was ready to be out of his head. He wanted to go hunt, he wanted to go find something and slice its heart out.

“Look, I'm sorry. But you have no idea what you are talking about.” Sam said defensively, and the wind in the room around them began to pick up. “Now if you would just listen–”

“I was there, Sam! I know you couldn’t wait to get away from me. You told me just about every day. You got out of the car and bolted for Stanford, didn’t even turn around. I know, ‘cause I watched you go. So you are finally away, you should be relieved. Drop the act, and just let me rot!” Dean yelled. It was the furthest thing from what he wanted, but he still preferred the truth over lies, over this crap Sam was trying to sell him now.

“It wasn’t away from you, Dean! If you’d just give me a second I could explain.” Sam hollered back and a clap of thunder suddenly went across the darkening sky over the once tranquil green room.

The breeze around them turned into a harsh wind. It no longer smelled like sweet Sammy, nor did it have the tang of impending rain. It smelled like blood.

“Yeah right, explain why you couldn’t stand to be near me? Why you barely talked to me the last few years before you left? Because it wasn’t me, right? It’s not like I was trying to hold you back. Hell, I helped you mail off your damn applications, asshole. You didn’t need to cut me out like that. But you did. Now suddenly you are _in love_ with me? I just don’t downshift that fast.”

The sky overhead kept on rumbling, the soft downy fuzz of the green room turned prickly around them.

“If you just give me a second to think, I’ll…I’ll…show you,” Sam stuttered.

“What are you going to show me Sam? The door smacking me in the face? I’ve seen it!” He was angry that Sam would try to deny even this obvious truth, which only meant Dean was right. Sam was lying about it all.

Rain suddenly began to fall over them from the sky above the roofless room, mirroring Sam’s emotions. Water beat down against him until he looked as miserable outside as he felt within. Sam didn’t even seem to notice. Dean wiped the water away from his face and yelled over the torrents. “You could at least put a damn roof on the place.”

Sam snapped his fingers angry, and they were standing under a covering. A Grecian building with tall white pillars by a lake, the rain-lashed landscape still around them. The place looked seriously familiar to Dean, but he turned his eyes back to Sam.

Sam’s wet hair stuck to his forehead and neck, his hazel eyes as tempestuous as the storm. Dean didn’t want to fight, seriously, he wanted to shut up and kiss Sam again. Just shut up and kiss him. He knew it was his own fault too, the deep well of pain wouldn’t be nearly as consuming if he wasn’t so hopelessly in love with Sam. But as he took a step forward and Sam repeated that _‘It wasn’t like that’_ he couldn’t stop all the pent up hurt that came flying out of his mouth.

“Yeah, okay, I’m sick and I want you, but I never did anything about it. I never asked anything of you other than for you not to leave me like you did. But I just took it like I always do. I ate my own heart for you because that is what you wanted. And if that is what Sam wants, then you got it baby, Dean Winchester out of your life! So don’t sit there and say that it was any other way. I mean, what is it you want from me now, Sam? I said I would wake up. I'm tapped out.” They both had come full circle back to misery now.

Sam shook his head and he turned his back to Dean. He took a few steps away, and all Dean could see was Sam leaving him all over again. He was filled up on pain, didn’t think any more could get in where he was already saturated since the age of four. It overflowed.

“And I’m sorry I came back to get you, I am. I’m sorry I can’t do this alone, that I’m pathetic and I need you. I’m sorry I ever saw your goddamned face again–”

“Dean, I…”

“Because I love you! _And I fucking hate you._ ”

When Sam turned back to him his face was wet with more than rain. He gave one slow nod to Dean’s words and looked down, swallowing, blinking, as his chin trembled.

Dean rushed to him frantically remorseful. “Oh no, sweetheart, no, I didn’t mean that. I don’t hate you. Not even a little. I didn’t mean any of that. I _am_ an idiot, okay? I'm just... I'm-I'm-I'm, I don’t know. I’m sorry.” He pulled him into his arms.

Sam hugged his arms around Dean and laid his head against his shoulder. Dean pressed a kiss into his wet hair. “I’m mad with myself, not you. I was happy when you went because you were happy. That is all I want for you. I just--I missed you so much.”

Sam openly cried.

“Don’t cry, please? I’m sorry. I’m just confused, Sammy. I don’t want you to feel like you have to give this to me. I know you don’t want it. But that is okay. I just thought staying away, staying in here was better, but if you don’t want it, then I don’t want it. I swear I’ll wake up now. I’ll shut up. I’ll do whatever.”

The storm continued on around them, but it lost its fury.

“You’re hurt. My fault.” Sam turned his wet eyes to Dean’s lips and leaned over and tentatively kissed them, still trembling as they pressed in. Dean held him fast but didn’t kiss him back this time. When Sam pulled away and looked at him, Dean placed a kiss on his forehead. Back to brotherly, back to protector, as he should be. Not this emotional mess, saying things that hurt his Sam. Not wanting things he shouldn’t want.

“You have to know, no matter what has happened, no matter what I do or stupid thing I say, no matter what becomes of us from here, that… I love you Sam. I just love you more than I can handle.”

It took Sam a long time to calm, but eventually the clouds overhead parted, though the sky overheard was now black and starless. Sam took a deep breath and went still. “I’m going to show you now.”

He snapped his fingers again.

 

 

To Be Continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments rile up my muse who then forces me to keep typing. Feel free to leave me feedback, suggestions, tips, Supernatural trivia answers, random omen like weather reports or just general horny noises if you think I should keep going...


	11. Enter Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who would give a law to lovers? Love is unto itself a higher law.  
> ~Boethius, The Consolation of Philosophy, A.D. 524
> 
> “I defy you, stars!” – Romeo  
> [](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/That_was_HOT/media/Oranother3_zps5fc1575c.jpg.html)

They stood in the dimly lit hallway of an old house, both completely dry. Dean still heard the rain falling around them. It took him a second to realize it wasn’t really rain and he tried to place the sound.

His own off key singing drifted through the air over the echoey sound of water hitting tile. Dean turned and looked down the end of the hallway. A preteen Sam was sitting at the bottom of a closed white bathroom door, his head leaning back to rest against it. He had just got home from school, his backpack at his feet and his sneakers still on. The teenage version of Dean beyond the bathroom door was enjoying his shower and belting out the last verses of a Kansas tune.

Dean turned back to Real Sam standing at his side. His beautiful slanted eyes were still ringed with a bit of pink from crying. The sadness was gone however, replaced with other emotions boiling under the surface.

“Sammy?”

Sam didn’t look at him. He was still standing close, but didn’t touch him now, that invisible barrier that was always between them back once again.

“You know I didn’t mean that stuff before. You don’t have to show me anything.”

“Who is lying now, Dean?” Sam said with a half smile, still not looking at him. His body was tense and his focus was on the young version of himself. “It’s okay. You meant a lot of it, but you are allowed to mean it.”

Dean, the master black belt extraordinaire of stamping down emotions, wasn’t use to letting them out. It didn’t feel safe. What if…

“I’m not upset with you and I’m not going anywhere,” Sam seemed to reply directly to his internal monologue. “I was telling you the truth too, but I guess it wasn’t the whole truth. I thought it better that you didn’t know. But I don’t think you’ll ever let us get past these issues unless I tell you everything. But these memories are not easy for me.”

“Then don’t. It’s okay. Let’s end the Vulcan mind meld already.”

Sam looked at him, leaned in, and Dean reflexively leaned away. Sam’s voice was sad as he turned away from him again. “Yeah.”

Dean _wanted_ to believe him, but things just didn’t happen that way. Leave the perfect endings to romance novels and bad TV. There was no way they could both want this. Real life ended messy, bloody, not with lovers riding off into the sunset. But his brother was hell bent that this was the truth, so what else could Dean say? He didn’t want to fight any more.

Dean heard his own low moans beyond the closed door, and his eyes went straight back to the scene before them. He was embarrassed hearing how loud he had been while getting off in the shower. The cheap houses they rented always had paper thin walls, and Dean, yeah Dean enjoyed jacking off as much as he enjoyed all the small pleasures in life: _thoroughly_.

“That’s, uh, just the chorus to my favorite song.” He grinned.

“Michael Jackson’s Beat It?” Sam smiled back at him.

“ _Bitch_ by the Rolling Stones,” Dean said back without missing a beat. “So why exactly am I being subjected to…” He trailed off as he looked down at the young version of Sam.

Memory Sammy’s hand began roaming along his own body. His fingers ran passed the band of his khaki school pants. His eyes closed as he listened to Dean. He stroked himself and let out quiet noises every time Dean made a sound. He bit his bottom lip and rolled his head from side to side against the door.

Real Dean turned his gaze back to the Sam next to him with a smile, “Apparently that was Come Together by The Beatles.”

“I, uh, yeah,” Sam rubbed the back of his head the way he did when he was nervous, officially thrown off his game. When he turned back to face Dean all of his shyness melted as their eyes met. “I meant it when I said I’ve always wanted you. You have no clue how many fantasies I’ve had about me being on my knees when you opened that door and you sliding all soapy clean into my mouth. Jesus. The things you make me think.”

Dean wasn’t sure why Sam insisted on showing him this, but he couldn’t help but love this new lack of filter Sam had going on, telling him all the dirty details, not one ounce of shame in his voice.

“Yeah?” Which in Dean’s head translated to _Please snap us to somewhere naked right now_.

“Sometimes you wouldn’t even shut the door all the way and, god, I hate shower curtains. I still…” Sam trailed off. “But that isn’t what this is about.”

He looked away as if to fight the pull of words tumbling from him. He had mentioned before that Dean being in his mind affected him like that, that he was having trouble controlling himself.

“You still what?” Dean stepped in front of him and purposefully got his gaze back. “Come on Sammy, you still what?”

“You really want to know?”

And fuck, if Sam’s voice just on that question alone didn’t get Dean’s blood flowing.

“You have no idea what you do to me.” Sam took a step towards him, as if his entire body wanted to touch Dean and not just his hands. He stood over him with desire rolling off of him that couldn’t have been mistaken even by a blind deaf mute in a coma. It made all the doubts in Dean’s mind begin to falter and all of the ‘god yes please!’ scream louder.

Dean couldn’t take his eyes off of Sam’s lips as he spoke. “I still get hard whenever you’re in the shower. Sometimes I still sit against the door and punish my dick while you’re in there, while I listen to you. It makes me come so hard. It’s the only time I come like that, when I’m thinking about you, when you are close to me. God, when I actually get to hear you coming I about lose my mind.”

Lust tingled down Dean’s body, down his arms to his fingertips. The thought of Sam wanting him that badly only feet away from where Dean was stripping his own cock while deep in his thoughts about Sam, just a door and a shower curtain between them…well, it was just about the goddamn hottest and most tragic thing there was.

His hand disobeyed all commands of his brain and broke through that invisible distance to touch Sam’s arm. Sam smiled at the contact and he leaned in even closer. Dean’s fingers moved restlessly down his arm until his thumb was brushing the bare skin of Sam’s wrist.

Dean teased, “Alright, so you have a shower fetish for me. I’m perfectly okay with that.”

Sam finally looked away and then shook his head like he was coming out of a trance, his face coloring. “Maybe. But that’s not the point.”

Sam’s eyes darted around nervously. He took a step back but Dean didn’t let go of him. “It’s not about that. It’s not what I’m showing you here.”

Then Dean noticed the scent in the air around them again. It was the coppery smell of fresh blood. It got so strong Dean wiped his hand against his nose. All his fleshy cum soaked thoughts vanished and were replaced by the prickly hairs on the back of his neck standing up. There was something unwelcome and violent here. This lusty little memory was about to go full nightmare.

The confirmation of that suspicion came with the look of fear that took over Sam’s face, his lips drawn thin, his eyes flashing danger, as he stared past Dean’s shoulder. Dean’s hand gripped around Sam’s wrist tighter, instinctively wanting to keep him close. Demons, succubi, shtriga, his mind was flashing with possible threats.

Dean turned his head to see.

John Winchester walked past them in that instant.

Dean let out the breath he was holding. It was only Dad. And okay, most parents would be freaked, Dean isn’t stupid, he gets it. But what could the man expect? Sam’s a kid and they did stupid shit like that. Not to mention their lives weren’t exactly normal and–

John pulled Sam up to his feet and without a word he hit him. An honest to god punch. Young memory Sam looked stunned, like he is seeing stars for a minute before his body went slack.

The whole world around them went dark.

John had hit him so hard he knocked the kid out. The darkness was like a missing scene in a film reel, a blank part of his memory from the black out. Dean was in shock. Sure, dad had hit him when he found out too, but they were full grown men evenly matched, Sam was… was just a child.

Suddenly the world around them jolted back. John’s hand landed across Sam’s face, slapping him back to consciousness. He wrenched free of his father’s grip, falling backwards hitting the ground hard and kicking out his feet, scrambling away from him. He staggered back up to standing and tried to make it to their room, the only semi-safe place he had in a world of unsafe places, be it a motel room, a bedroom of the month, or just the interior of the Impala, because Dean was there. But Dean, protector and fighter of monsters, wasn’t there this time.

John caught Sam by the back of the neck at the threshold of the room. He clamped his other hand over his mouth and dragged his small form from the house. They were outside in seconds, John manhandling Sam down the porch steps, his tennis shoe getting pulled off and left in the grass in the process as Sam dragged his feet uselessly at the ground. John took him around the house, beyond where Dean could hear. He pulled open the rusty garage door, pushing Sam inside ahead of him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” John finally spoke. He didn’t have to raise his voice for it to be a yell.

Dean had never had the two sides of himself warring so completely. Respect John, protect Sam.

Dean knew they had both learned to talk with their fists from their father. They were hunters, the roughness was just part of the territory. It wasn’t an excuse. That was just the way they were. Besides John had smacked Dean around plenty growing up, and, well, he mostly deserved it. But… it had never been brutal, it had never been terror like it was in Sam’s face now.

“Answer me.” John said as he pulled Sam back in by the collar and gave him a quick hit to the side of the face.

Dean tried to excuse it. After all, he and Sam fought too. They punched each other. A few punches thrown between them was even downright therapeutic at times…and…

“Dean!” Young Sam cried out in fear. It sent John into an even bigger fury and he struck Sam across the face twice, left, right, before releasing him to crumple down to the floor. Sam sat looking down, punch drunk, staring blankly at his own hands in his lap. He went wide eyed as red drops began falling on to his open palms like rain. Blood ran from his nose, over his lips, down along his chin and dripped down. He looked back up at John with broken faith.

Right then and there Dean made a vow that he would never hit Sam again. _Never_.

“That is your brother,” John said, his face turning to such revulsion that he seemed like a man possessed. But the only thing pounding through his head was liquid amber rage, not black smoke.

“I don’t care!” Memory Sam cried back, the exact wrong words.

“You’re going to care before we leave this room. I’m not going to let you turn into a _freak_.”

Sammy began to cry.

“No!” Dean sprang forward, knowing he couldn’t stop it, but swinging his fists at memory John anyway. He wanted to take his head off.

There was a snap and he and Real Sam were back in the calm of the green room an instant later.

Dean grabbed Sam up, pulled him close but then his breath caught. “Your nose is bleeding.”

Blood trailed down Real Sam’s face, pooling in the corner of his lips before it continued down his chin, just the same as that day. He wiped at it, and then snapped his fingers, but it continued to bleed. It was a wound Sam carried so deeply in his mind that he still felt it.

“He took off his belt and hit me until I said I’d never do it again,” Sam said still wiping at his face. “But the things he said.” Sam shook his head and a few tears ran down and were added into the red.

Dean could picture it. Their father full of ugly words while Sammy bled innocence out all over the floor.

Dean shrugged off his leather jacket, Dad’s jacket. He looked at it a moment then dropped it to the ground. He took off his dark red button down next, leaving him in just his gray t-shirt. He ripped the red shirt, folded it over and held it against Sam’s nose. He put a hand to the back of his neck and gently made him tilt his head forward. He knew this was only dreams in their heads, but that was blood, he couldn’t stand around doing nothing. The shirt was soaked through in a matter of minutes. It was a memory that just needed to bleed.

“I-I-I can’t. Dean, I can’t think about the rest.” Sam said imploringly.

“It’s okay, I believe you. Don’t need to see that.” Dean having been on the receiving end recently knew some of what his father must have said. His father’s hateful words had made Dean put a gun to his head. What that must have done to a child like Sam...

Sam sniffled and looked at Dean. “That’s why dad was watching you all the time. It wasn’t anything you did. It was because I screwed up. I’m sorry.”

Dean finally dropped the shirt and wrapped himself around Sam, devastated that he hadn’t protected him from this. “Don’t apologize. This isn’t your fault. I’m the one that’s sorry that I wasn’t there for you, I’m sorry, Sam.”

Sam put his arms around Dean’s waist and held him in return. “Dad said you’d hate me. I was too scared to tell you.” The giant body of Sam suddenly felt fragile and small in his arms, and it frightened him and enraged him all at once.

“I could never hate you. Do you hear me? I say stupid crap, I get upset, but I swear to you there is nothing you could ever do that would make me hate you.”

To Real Dean’s horror he watched as Sam’s subconscious continued to bleed through quite literally. His face began to bruise and… shit. Dean _knew_ these wounds. He had memorized every scar Sam had because they were all the times he had failed to protect him.

Fall, 1995. Bullies. Brett, Jeremy, Ben.

But it hadn’t been bullies. It had felt untruthful even then, but Dean needed a warm body for revenge and Sam had given it to him. He remembered kicking their asses, apparently now for no good reason, but consoled himself that they were notorious assholes so he had probably avenged someone.

The memory was still playing on.

“Hey, kiddo, you okay? You with me? Come on, I gotcha, I gotcha. I’m here now,” Dean, still shower damp, was there. John had pressed an ice pack to the worst of Sam’s injuries and flopped him back into his bed and left without another word.

“Don’t touch me!” Memory Sam’s young voice rang out full of fear as Dean was scooping him into his arms.  
Dean inhaled a sharp breath, “Okay. You got it,” and let go of Sam.

“But you still need to tell me what happened.” He looked over the damage trying to keep calm but so obviously ready to kill whatever it was that had laid a finger on his brother.

“Bullies. At school.” Sam said.

It was the start to all the lies between them.

Before Real Dean could speak the memory changed over Sam’s shoulder and anguish hit him like a cold kick to the jewels. Another memory playing meant it hadn’t been a onetime thing. John had hurt Sam more than once. More than once and Dean never had a clue about it.

Real Sam buried his face in Dean’s shoulder and his voice continued muffled against his neck. The warm thick wetness of blood clung to Dean’s skin. “He told me how sick I was, he made it pretty clear if I ever did anything like that again, he would hurt me. He did though, he caught me again. That summer in Montana, you were injured from the werewolf hunt and dad had you doped up pretty good on painkillers. And I… I kissed you.”

 _Holy hell!_ Dean had always thought that was a fever dream.

The memory was of a slightly older Sam who was sitting on the edge of an old ripped up couch, thermometer in hand. He watched over Dean who was stretched out along the length of the couch, unconscious and looking pale.

“I was so worried. I had never seen you hurt that badly before. You were knocked out for two whole days. You finally opened your eyes and looked at me. I couldn’t help it.” Real Sam said.

He watched over Sam’s shoulder, as the memory of Dean opened his eyes groggily, and yes, Sam just kissed him. He flew down unreserved, no other emotions but relief and pure love and he kissed Dean. He dropped the thermometer and put both hands on Dean’s face and kissed him in happiness. Dean was going to be okay, and Sam kissed him again. When he pulled back Dean smiled. “Sammy,” he mumbled as his eyes fell closed again, back to unconscious.

John pulled memory Sam up so hard and fast away from Dean in the next instant that it looked like he was going to snap him in half.

“It wasn’t as bad that time because I knew what was coming.” Real Sam said sounding like he was trying to convince himself.

Dean wanted to believe that but he watched while his little brother pissed himself as John dragged him across the room. That was absolute fear.

John shoved him into the cramped bathroom, the door banging into the wall. He pushed Sam until he fell sideways into the shower, his long coltish legs hanging half way out over the tub edge. John turned the water on, freezing cold. Sam yelped and jumped but his father’s stare kept him pinned there.

Sam was smart even as a kid. If he got into mischief while Dean was in charge he would explain to him why he was in trouble. Sam would shoot back with a hundred questions, which Dean would answer with what he thought was the patience of a saint sometimes. Then he would watch the little wheels in Sam’s head turning, him weighing it all. Most often he would curl up against Dean and say he was sorry. Once Sam understood something, agreed to it, that was that. He never did the same wrong thing twice.

Dean couldn’t stand seeing Sam getting into trouble when Dad was home. Dad was always worn out from the hunt, his temper short, he didn’t have time to talk to Sam that way, and Sam was just so hard willed he often made it worse for himself. Usually when Dean knew Sam was about to get it from dad, he’d try and take the blame or if that wasn’t an option he’d pull some stunt, do something so stupid that his father’s anger had to turn away from Sam and get redirected to him instead. He’d much rather take it than have to see Sam over his father’s knee.

He had once taken the Impala’s key off the key ring, stood right between John and Sammy, and swallowed it. John had been so stupefied by Dean’s actions he completely forgot about Sam ever being in trouble and instead they spent the night on one of Dean’s more unpleasant trips to the ER. Dean wished he could do that right now, wished he could go smack the idiot passed out on the couch, tell him to get his unworthy ass up and defend his little brother. But he can’t. He can’t do anything but watch.

John yelled a torrent of hate as he leaned over and smacked Sam repeatedly.

“You are sick! Who takes advantage of someone while they are passed out?”

Sam held his arms up protectively around his head, too scared to say a word as John hit him again, the sound reverberating off the tiles.

“And it is your own goddamned brother.”

Sam’s thin body shook all over from the cold and fear.

“It’s disgusting.”

“It isn’t!” Sam burst, the words coming out in little tremors.

John raised a fist.

Real Sam turned away, pushed Dean away, didn’t want to see it. But it didn’t matter. A trickle of blood ran down Real Sam’s lip, a bruise darkened the corner of his mouth.

“He hates me, he hates me, he hates me he hates me hehatesme.” Sam was nearly hysterical. Another line of blood leaked down his cheek, the unmarred skin on his forehead began to bruise. He looked like he had gone twelve rounds with a block of cement.

Dean felt nearly as hysterical as Sam, didn’t know what to do, so he just held him. “Shh, it’s okay, just a memory, you are safe now. Come back to me Sammy.”

“He is going to send me away. Keeps saying it. Every day. I won’t see Dean again. No no no.” Sam was rambling, his breath coming fast, his eyes far off and lost in all the panic and turmoil of that time.

Dean’s entire vision of his father was cracking and falling away, revealing something underneath that he didn’t want to see. Not the strong brave unstoppable force Dean tried to emulate, but a scared flawed human that after years of fighting only knew how to cope by way of his fists.

Dean pulled his hands up from where he had been hugging protectively around Sam and laid them gently on the sides of his face just as Sam had done to him so many years ago.

He kissed him.

Sam fell silent.

“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry Sammy, you didn’t do anything wrong, you didn’t do anything wrong baby. This isn’t your fault. You let all that go.” He let his lips graze Sam’s cheek, his nose, kissed every wound to make it better. And it did, one by one the wounds vanished as Dean talked to him, kissed him. “You’re okay, I’m here now.” He kissed the bruise at the corner of Sam’s mouth until it was gone, kissed his lips until the copper taste gave way and they only tasted like Sam. He continued on, kissing his face until he was his beautiful Sammy again.

“How could I not have known? I would have killed him for hurting you.” Dean said aloud more to himself than to Sam, still kissing his face.

Sam, looked down, there was a lot of things Dean hadn’t known.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said finally back with him.

“Stop apologizing, okay? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I-I didn’t want to tell you all of this. You need him. I don’t want you to, I don’t want you to hate dad because of me.”

Sam was concerned about Dean. He was a bloody mess emotionally, and he was worried about what this would do to Dean.

Dean hugged him closer. “You tell me everything you need to tell me. I need to know, I want to. Don’t worry about anything else.”

Sam shook his head, but Dean’s words had triggered it. Endless scenes playing simultaneously all around them, all the little things Sam was keeping inside...

✦✦✦

Four year old Sam’s big eyes stared up at Dean like he was god himself. He stretched his arms up. Dean laughed as he picked him up and spun him.

“It’s you and me Sammy. Always and forever.”

✦✦✦

Sam was playing his favorite game of ask Dean 101 questions while he cooked dinner.

He rattled off things like why was his teacher left handed, why couldn’t they breathe underwater, why wasn’t his skin purple. And Dean did his best to answer him.

“What is love?” Sam asked, his voice much quieter than on the other questions.

“Well, it means you have feelings inside you of liking someone a whole lot. Like me or dad, that is family love. Then you have feelings for girls, like how dad loved mom. There are lots of kinds of love.” Dean said as he dumped sauce over pasta.

Sam thought this over for awhile.

“Why? Is there some girl out there you want to kiss?” Dean asked still at the stove, not turning around.

“Ew!” Sam screamed.

“Sammy is gonna kiss girls! Kiss kiss kiss!” Dean was laughing.

“Am not!”

✦✦✦

“Dee?” Sam stood at the foot of his bed, still a child but too old to be scared of the dark anymore, “Can I…”

Dean pulled his blanket up and Sam crawled in to the bed with him. He buried his face right into Dean’s neck, he kissed him once on his throat. He let out a long breath and was instantly asleep.

✦✦✦

Sam flew at Dean when the door opened and hugged himself around him. John and Dean had been on a dangerous hunt and Sam was sick with worry.

“Quit being such a girl,” Memory Dean teased but hugged Sam back. John gave Sam a look and he retreated away from them both.

✦✦✦

Dean was bent over fixing the car. His legs opened in a wide stance, his jeans stretched tight over his eighteen year old body. The fabric clung to his ass, his thigh muscles, it moved like a second skin as he leaned forward. A young teen Sam sat on the fence behind him and stared transfixed at the sight.

“Hand me the Crescent wrench?” Dean asked still engrossed in what he was doing.

Sam walked forward, dug in the tool box and laid the wrench in Dean’s hand.

Sam stayed standing behind Dean with only inches separating them. He looked down at his brother’s body stretched out below him, his gaze running down the curve of Dean’s ass. Sam saw movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head just in time to see John walking towards him from the house in a fury. Sam took off, bolted out of the yard before he reached him.

“Sam?” Dean called after him.

✦✦✦

Dad dropped Dean off at Bobby’s house. He claimed Dean needed to heal after a hunt, but Dean had taken it as a reprimand, as punishment for not being good enough. He was thoroughly hurt by that and all the more so when John still took Sam along with him when he left.

“We aren’t going on a hunt.” Dad revealed. Sam looked scared. Dad had made threats about sending him away. He began to shake and John did nothing to stop his fear.

The memory jumped to sitting in the home of a Hoodoo priestess. “Maybe he is cursed,” Sam overheard John saying. She laid some mojo on Sam, but shook her head at John. He took him to a Shaman next, who performed more rituals. A string of other healers, the flood of faces was a blur of nearly forgotten memory.

Finally they were in the cozy home of a psychic. The real-deal kind. “Come here baby,” She said and hugged her arms around Sam. She laid her hands on Sam’s head for awhile, then she affectionately smoothed his hair and smiled at him. It was rare for Sam to get that kind of attention. “You poor darling. The stars sure are crossed for you.” John walked toward her, and she frowned and walked into another room and he followed.

A moment later her beaded curtain clanked as it swung into the wall and John reappeared, livid. She must have said something to piss their father off as he proceeded to break half the stuff in her house. He grabbed up Sam by the back of his shirt collar and marched him outside.

“John Winchester!” She screamed, “You are a damn fool!”

Sam shut up completely, said nothing once they were back in the car. A sheen of greasy sick fear was across Sam’s face, terrified of what their father would do, that he may never see Dean again. They drove in silence all the way back to Bobby’s.

✦✦✦

“Why are you putting Sam in your room?” Dean asked as John picked up Sam’s duffle out of the car. They were standing outside of a typical seedy motel in some backwater nowhere.

“You are old enough to need your privacy now,” John replied. “Just thought I’d give you a break for the night.”

Time jumped forward, it was dark outside, late.

Young Sam paced around the cramped motel room, agitated. John ignored him and set out all his guns on the table. Dean’s deep voice came muffled through the walls as he walked by their door. Sam slunk to the window and pulled back the shade just in time to see that Dean had taken his father’s words as an order. He had brought back a girl.

Dean’s skin was all shades of green and red, glistening in the neon light coming from the motel sign above them as he leaned in and kissed her. Dean caught sight of Sam peeking out from the motel window, and for a moment he froze. The girl leaned over and whispered into his ear and he guided her with a smile and a hand on her back towards their room. He winked at Sam as he walked past.

Sam let the curtain fall. He looked down at the floor and gasped for air like he couldn’t breathe. He sat down and pulled his knees up and buried his face against them, his chest still heaving like there wasn’t any air. John said nothing, just continued to clean his guns at the table behind him.

✦✦✦

“Seriously Samantha, what is wrong with you? You PMSing?” Dean said when Sam slammed down his book bag.

He had walked in to Dean and his latest girl sitting on his bed. “I don’t like my brother being a whore on my bed!” Sam yelled back.

✦✦✦

“God! Aren’t you bored? Let’s get out of here for awhile.” Dean was saying as he drummed his fingers restlessly against the table where Sam was trying to do his homework.

“How can you constantly be studying? There’s more to life than school.”

“It’s better than…” Sam caught himself.

“What?”

Then found a way to say it without saying it. “Focusing on our screwed up lives.”

“Ah, come on, hunting ain’t that bad.”

“Just leave me alone, Dean.”

“Fine,” Dean said sounding hurt. “You want to do homework on a flipping Friday, be my guest mathlete. I’m going out.”

“Can’t you just,” Sam said. _Stay here with me? Be here with me._

“What?”

“Nothing. Go.”

✦✦✦

“Is this about that girl, what’s her name, Sera?” Dean was asking. “Why don’t you want to go out with her? She is cute.” He looked about as happy saying that as Sam was to hear it, but the look disappeared as fast as it had arrived. “If you don’t, I will,” He teased.

Sam made an exasperated noise.

✦✦✦

Sam was scrubbing at his locker in the deserted school hallway. The word “Fag” was written across it. “Two more days and we are out of this school,” he said aloud to himself.

✦✦✦

Sam kissed a shy red headed girl. He looked as happy about it as if he was kissing the bottom end of a demon’s boot.

Sam kissed another girl, a brunette in a pink dress. He kissed her hard and fast, like if he did it quick enough, got it over with, she would mistake his hurry for excitement.

“All the coolest people are _freaks_ ,” The blonde with the braid and moon necklace said. Sam kissed her.

The fourth girl had short dirty blonde hair, big green eyes, and was wearing a Metallica t-shirt. Sam kissed her a lot slower, a lot longer.

✦✦✦

A much older teenage Sam was laughing with a girl, as they headed into his room, books in hand to… _study_.

“Hey there,” Dean smiled as they walked past him in the living room. He did what he always did when he was uncomfortable, he flirted.

“You are so out of my brother’s league. What did he do? Promise to get you an A on your exam?” The girl giggled under Dean’s attention and Sam suddenly lost the interest in studying.

✦✦✦

Dean had never been good at gifts, too much emotion required, so he always bought Sam something as a joke.

On this birthday, which Sam thought they all had forgotten, he found a set of books on his bed. An actual present. Tucked inside the first book was a note.

The paper simply said:  
 _Happy Birthday Sammy. You are such a nerd.  
Love, Dean_

Sam thumbed over the word love, over and over again.

✦✦✦

John hit him again, one fast warning punch to the arm. Sam ducked back into his bedroom, away from where Dean was drunkenly napping on the couch.

✦✦✦

Sam and Dean were looking at each other as they stood on the banks of a river.

“I thought you were doing the whole solo ‘5 states 5 days’ thing?” Sam asked, “Why are you here in Orlando?”

Without a word Dean leaned in and kissed Sam, a fast teasing kiss, barely a brush of lips. He smiled and waded out into the water and turned back to Sam. Sam, looking utterly dazed followed. Dean smiled at Sam when he reached him, the water rushing around their knees. He leaned in and kissed Sam’s neck, continued to kiss it as he pulled him further out.

Two second later John was shoving Dean backwards.

“Dad, stop!” Sam yelled.

He shot Dean point blank in the heart with a silver bullet. Sam screamed and dropped beside him.

“It’s a Kelpie, Sam!” John yelled out. When Sam still looked horrified he continued, “Malevolent water-spirit. You almost got yourself killed! You were following it right out into the fucking water. I thought you had more brains or I wouldn’t have asked you to do this.”

“How sure were you?” Sam asked not taking his eye off of the form of Dean until it turned into a jelly like mass that began to pulse and foam and melt into the current of water.

“A hundred percent,” John said coolly, “Dean wouldn’t be acting like that.”

Sam let out a shaky breath. “So if Dean had kissed me, you’d have shot him without hesitation.”

John ignored his words, sober because they were on a job and he was trying to stay calm. He knew what they were hunting. “What would you have done if Dean was on this case with you instead of me? If he had seen that?”

“Dean would never use me as bait like you do,” Sam replied still sitting in the dirty river, still stunned.

✦✦✦

Sam leaned in to kiss a boy. A tall athletic guy from high school. He frowned before their lips touched and pulled away.

“I’m sorry, I’m just… I’m not.” Sam said.

“You’re not what?”

“I thought maybe, but, I’m just, I’m not into guys.”

The boy looked pissed. “Hey, you’re the one that came on to me.”

“I’m just working though some stuff. I thought maybe this was the answer. I’m sorry.” Sam tried to calm him.

“You’re going to be sorry.”

✦✦✦

“Hey, cool your teenage psychosis for a minute,” Dean said as Sam shoved his way past him. “Dad is gonna want to know why you kicked the crap outta those guys at school today. Hell, I want to know.”

Sam just kept walking to their room but turned back, “Tell him whatever you want. It’s not like he cares, it’s not like you care.” He slammed the door, but a second later Dean was pushing it open.

“Don’t say shit like that to me, of course I care. I will personally kick anyone’s ass that messes with you.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“I just don’t get you lately man, the last school you were all ‘I want to fit in, we can’t fight’ and now you are the terminator. What is going on in that _freaky_ head of yours?” he asked.

Sam turned and shot him a look full of daggers. “Fuck off, Dean.”

✦✦✦

Sam was reading a letter, written in his father’s Yoda-like hand writing. It detailed everything he expected Sam to do the entire time he was gone, one order after another and peppered throughout were warnings and threats about his brother, only slightly veiled in case Dean saw the letter. Sam was fuming, he ripped it up, balled up the pieces and threw it in the trash before he threw himself on the bed.

“Hey, Dad’s not home, what do you say we ditch the studying and go see a movie tonight or we could go…” Dean was saying standing in the doorway.

Sam got off his bed and walked towards him. Full of hurt and anger and tired of it all. And for a moment his intentions were clear. He was going to do it, he was going to kiss Dean. He wanted it to be over. Let Dean hate him.

Without a word he closed the door in Dean’s face. He couldn’t. And he didn’t want to be asked what was wrong for the hundredth time, unable to answer. He heard the front door slam as Dean left, and he began to cry.

✦✦✦

“Give it!” Dean was wrestling to get the remote out of Sam’s hands. He pushed Sam over and sat on top of him, pinning him down onto the couch with his weight. Dean leaned in close and Sam went still. Dean grabbed the remote from his hand, but he didn’t move otherwise. He wasn’t wearing his normal victory smile, but was instead looking down at Sam, studying him.

“Get off me, asshat,” Sam said as he tried to hide the blush rising to his face as well as other things also currently on the rise.

“Ah, Sammy, you know you love me,” Dean gave him a cheesy grin then pushed himself back up. He flipped through the channels.

Sam looked long and hard at him. He got up and walked out of the room.

“Oh, come on! I’ll put your stupid nature show back on.”

✦✦✦

“Ah, sugar, you don’t have to be scared, I don’t bite unless you want me to,” the professional lady was saying as she stroked up Sam’s leg.

Sam had finally found the upside of getting left at the seedy little motels they always stayed at.

“Can I…” Sam trailed off.

“You just tell me what you want, I’ll make sure you get it.”

“Can I call you a different name?”

She smiled, “You can call me whatever you like.”

“You won’t be upset?”

She smiled at his innocence. “Sug, listen, I’ve seen all types, there ain’t nothing a sweetheart like you could do to upset me.” She looked him over for another moment. “You are so young, but my guess for you would be unrequited love… Listen, I don’t normally try to run off business, but, maybe she will come around? Maybe you should wait.”

✦✦✦

“You stink like sex,” Dean said wrinkling up his nose. Sam just shrugged at him.

✦✦✦

The look on Dean’s face is one Sam never forgot. He was holding the manila folder full of college brochures. He tossed it on the bed in utter betrayal.

“You should hide those a lot better if you don’t want dad to find them,” was all he said as he walked out of the room.

Sam shoved the whole thing into the trash. He kicked the trash can as hard as he could, cursed it.

Then he looked around hopelessly.

He pulled the folder back out and buried it in the bottom of his duffel bag.

✦✦✦

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Their father’s voice boomed around them.

There was an endless amount of other memories but they all suddenly stopped. They were standing in another run down house. The shag carpet under their feet may well have been white at some point but now it was brown with years of worn in desert sand and grit. Most of the furniture was older than Dean, plastic covered so that it stuck to your skin and smelt of moth balls. The AC had clunked out the day after they arrived, and the air in the house was miserably hot, sweaty, suffocating. The kind of weather that kept people on edge, that started fights. Dean remembered this place well. Arizona.

To be continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank everyone who has left me comments and kudos! Comments make my muse tether me to my keyboard. Feel free to tell me what you think, hate it, love it, want to buy it pie, or shoot it in the heart... 
> 
> P.S. to Frillyknickers: my attempts at cracking that vault didn't happen this chapter, Sam's head proved too much for me, be on the lookout for it in the next though ;)


	12. Dreams of War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's only lies that I'm living  
> It's only tears that I'm crying  
> It's only you that I'm losing...  
> Guess I'm doing fine.  
> -Beck

Dean knew what had happened in Arizona was his fault. Had always known. As he stood next to Sam in the memory of that house again, Dean’s thoughts went back to the events of that day…

***

Teenage Sam was laughing as they both lay on Dean’s bed in the insufferably hot room in the rented house in Tucson, Arizona. The A/C wasn’t the only thing busted. The television and every worthy distraction in the place was down too. But Dean actually liked that because then Sam was stuck with him. They had to entertain each other. Sam read to him, talked, and Dean mostly just sat in happiness listening to him.

They were both stripped down to nothing but shorts. Dean didn’t normally do shorts, but as naked as possible was required in this type of heat. They had each already jumped in the shower repeatedly to try to cool off and it wasn’t even noon yet. But the water was tepid at best and the dust and the dryness just seemed to stick to them all the more so, so they gave up. Now they were lounging on the bed in the small bedroom, trying to move as little as possible, like lizards under a rock.

Sam lay on his stomach reading from his book. Dean was next to him on his back with a glass of lemonade held resting against his chest, the ice cracking and popping as it melted.

Sam finished reading the silly poem he had found to Dean:

_"By Golly," the devil finally panted_  
"I did my job too well.  
I'm going back where I came from  
Arizona is hotter than Hell!" 

Dean laughed, more at the sound of Sam’s giggling amusement then the poem itself. Dean in turn told Sam a dirty joke about Arizona that he knew, and that got an even bigger laugh out of Sam. It was a sound Dean hadn’t heard often enough these days. He told Sam another just to hear it again.

Their father’s voice reverberated as he went past their room, and they both got quiet and listened. He was on the phone chasing a lead in Colorado, something about a gun. Normally his father flying solo and keeping him out of the loop would have bothered Dean, but at the moment he was too hot and having too much fun with Sam to care.

After a minute Sam pushed his book off the bed and let his head drop to rest on his arm. “It’s so hot in here,” he whined.

“Thanks for the newsflash,” Dean replied as he scooped up an ice cube from his drink.

“I feel like I am going to melt and die. Can’t dad ever rent a place that has actual breathable air?”

Dean held his hand hovering over Sam’s back, waiting.

“My obit is going to say: Sam Winchester died drowning in a puddle of his own sweat.”

Dean smirked and dropped the ice right on to the center of Sam’s back.

Sam yelped and jumped as the ice rolled off. He fell back onto his stomach with a small laugh, “Jerk. A little warning and that might have actually felt good.”

Dean scooped another quickly melting but bigger cube from the glass. “Well here comes another one then,” he said and rubbed it over Sam’s shoulders.

“Gah, yes.” Sam let his forehead drop to rest on his folded arms.

Dean smiled, watching Sam’s whole body relax. The kid always did run hot. He rolled to his side to face Sam and rubbed the coolness down Sam’s back, up his sides until there were cold little watery trails all over his summer-tanned skin.

He pulled out a second ice cube and rubbed it over the back of his neck where his sweaty little hairs curled. Running the ice behind Sam’s ears earned Dean a laugh, running it over his lower back got him a sigh. Pulling up the back of his shorts and chucking it down the crack of his ass got him another yelp, and Dean had a good chuckle as he watched Sam squirm.

“Better? Did I save you from your pathetic death by perspiration?” Dean asked.

“One more?” All it took was the small plea in Sam’s voice and Dean was happy to comply.

He rubbed the ice over Sam leisurely this time. He watched the water bead up and roll down Sam’s sides. Soon his thoughts started to drift. He wondered how the coldness and the heat of Sam’s skin would feel against his mouth. He imagined the slight sweet sour flavor from the lemonade, the salty taste of sweat. It took awhile before he realized the ice was gone and he was just running his fingers all over Sam. He pulled his hand back fast. _What the fuck is wrong with me?_

After a minute of enjoying the coolness Sam rose to his elbows to look at Dean. “Your turn?”

“Nah,” Dean said but Sam’s arm was across his chest already pulling the biggest remaining ice cube up the side of his glass.

“Roll over, unless you want an ice cube in your belly button,” Sam said sitting up as he took the glass from Dean’s hand and set it on the wobbly nightstand.

“Really Sam, I’m fine,” Dean said. _But man, wouldn’t it have felt nice…_

Sam shrugged his shoulders as if to say okay. Then without warning swung his hand over and plunged the ice cube right into Dean’s belly button, cracking up at the way it made Dean jump and swear.

Sam ran the little block of ice up along Dean’s stomach.

_This. This is a bad idea. Bad, bad idea._

This was more physical contact than they had had in the last year, Sam had been so ‘rage against everything’ lately that to actually find him in a good mood was rare. For Sam to be happy, and actually affectionate like he use to be, and all that despite the heat, well they may have just entered the Twilight Zone. Dean didn’t want it to stop, even if it came with Rod Serling dryly narrating his fate at the end.

Dean watched Sam’s face as he concentrated on sliding the slippery bit of ice over his body. As the ice began to melt Sam moved it to the center of his palm and all five of his splayed fingers grazed Dean’s skin. He moved the ice cube over his chest, up over his shoulders. He made little circles with it over Dean’s collarbone. Dean didn’t even feel the cold. All he felt were those five points of contact, Sam’s fingertips brushing against him everywhere.

Sam smelled hot and earthy as he leaned over him to run the ice down his arm. It reminded Dean of a burning field on the fourth of July. He stayed leaning over him, more skin contact, his forearm brushing against Dean’s chest as he ran the cold little piece of joy along his side and back up along the middle of him. The water dripped over and tickled his sides and soaked into the bed sheet around him. The rest pooled in the dips of his stomach. Every so often Sam would glance up at his face and smile. The attention was making Dean fall apart.

For a moment or two, Dean went as far as to let himself pretend Sam was enjoying it the same way he was, that the smile that crossed his face was one of pleasure, that he liked stroking his fingers over Dean’s body.

Sam brought his hand back down to the lower half of Dean’s stomach, mostly just hand and barely any ice. His fingers brushed the top band of Dean’s shorts then quickly traced upwards leaving the last of the small melting bit of ice in Dean’s belly button where it had all started.

Dean’s mind was full of images of ice-cold palms stroking hot swollen skin. He cursed himself silently. But the thoughts remained, turned worse, turned to Sam’s beautiful mouth.

As if he had been reading Dean’s dirty mind Sam pursed his lips, opened them just a little and leaned down over Dean.

Dean froze.

Sam blew a long breath over Dean’s wet skin, and tingles broke out all over him. His nipples perked up, his stomach tightened, his skin felt fluttery.

“Evaporation.”

“ _What_?” Dean tried to bite off the squeak to his voice.

“Learned about it in science class when we were discussing the human body. The water takes the heat from your body as it evaporates. That is why we sweat and that’s why it feels colder when you blow on it.” And he leaned over and blew across Dean’s chest and down his stomach like Dean was a birthday cake and Sam was making a wish. “See?”

Dean needed to hide the major wood that ‘evaporation’ just gave him.

But then Sam leaned over him again, much closer this time. He let out a breath over Dean’s shoulder, the too hot air in the room, the too cool sensations of Sam’s breath, his perfect face, his perfect body, the entire universe shrinking down to his lips as he whispered “feels good, right?”

Dean grabbed him and pulled him in close.

He didn’t know why he did it…okay, he knew why, but he couldn’t believe he did it. Pulled Sam down to him, pulled him against his bare chest, right there, almost kissed him, his hot little breathes coming out right against Dean’s mouth, and the next thing Dean knew he was flying into the living room away from Sam.

Dean was so royally fucked.

The Rod Serling in his head did narrate the scene as he looked around frantically for escape. _Witness one Mr. Dean Winchester, age nineteen, who has a talent, discovered at a very early age, to ruin everything around him. A most odd talent, and a master plan to destroy his own life, here, in The Twilight Zone._

Sam was chasing after him, his voice all worry. “Dean?”

Dean needed to get out of there. “It’s too hot in here,” He said lamely.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed confused. “Take another shower.”

“Nah, I’m bored,” Dean said. Sam looked insulted.

“I’m gonna go check out the bar down the street, I’m thinking they have A/C, cold drinks. Want anything? I’ll bring you back something.” Dean didn’t wait for a reply.

The anger was back in Sam’s voice, “You can’t just ditch me in this hellhole!”

Dean pulled on a shirt from the pile of dirty clothes sitting by the door waiting to be taken to the Laundromat, grabbed the keys.

Sam grasped a handful of Dean’s shirt and tugged him. “Why?”

“Boys?” John asked, hearing the commotion as he walked into the living room.

Dean said to Sam, “I’m not ditching you, I just ah… ” and then to John, “I’m going a little stir crazy, Dad. I know you gotta make that trip up to meet those guys in Colorado, I’ll be back before you go, okay?”

“I want to be on the road by four,” John said still assessing the situation, seeing Dean’s shirt wrapped in Sam’s fist. “Sam, you owe me some extra training work today for the attitude yesterday. Might as well get started on it while Dean is gone.”

“If you leave me here…” Sam said to Dean ignoring their father completely. But the threat died on his lips. “Go,” his shoulders slumped. “Just… go ahead.”

“Sam, did you hear me?” John asked.

Dean heard the argument start between John and Sam but he couldn’t play referee right now.

In the next instant, he was behind the wheel of his Baby, with the freedom of the open road stretching out in front of him. The road calmed him. It was quiet, no emotions, there was always more of it, it was constant and steady. Unlike his life, the car never broke in ways he didn’t know how to fix, the road never led him somewhere he couldn’t return from.

It had been happening for longer than he wanted to admit, the want to be near Sam, the things he’d let his mind wander too while he lay in bed at night, while he got off in the shower, while he screwed waitresses coincidentally named Samantha.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been driving, he passed three bars but just kept going. He turned on his music, blasting something loud, something mullet rock, something Sam would hate.

He could only hope he hadn’t scarred his brother for life. But Sam followed him and didn’t want him to leave, so maybe he didn’t know what Dean was doing when he had pulled him down like that. Maybe he was too innocent to understand the perversion going on in Dean’s head. He tried to take some solace in that possibility. Maybe they could pretend this never happened and Dean could press all of it so down deep inside himself and never let it resurface, even if it meant misery. He didn’t believe in angels or heaven any more, and it looked like happiness had its head on the chopping block now too.

He cranked up the A/C in the car and let it wash over him. A pang of guilt hit him with the cool air. The thought of Sam back there fighting with John, sweating to death. He almost turned around, but the big sign advertising “B-52 Bar” came into view in that moment and he pulled the car into the dusty lot. He needed to find himself some clean thoughts first.

It looked like a dark and dirty place to find a fight or a fuck, or to rob some poor bastard blind on the pool table. He flashed his fake ID. He’d take whatever came first.

***

He was already ten minutes late by the time he peeled himself out of the bar, plied with liquid courage and girls’ phone numbers. But it had done nothing to help him. The image of that near kiss with Sam returned like a vengeful spirit the entire time. Wouldn’t leave him no matter how many blasts of mental rock salt he shot at it. Unfortunately, there were no bones to burn.

His father let him have it for being late the moment his foot stepped on the porch. He yelled about Dean being more responsible. But John seemed tired, worn, the speeches only half hearted. He hadn’t shaved, looked sweaty and miserable, and had bags under his eyes from lack of sleep.

“All I care about is keepin' you two alive. I’m doing what I can to protect you. Why do you boys always have to fight me?”

“I don’t fight you. I’m sorry I was late, but come on it was only...”

John gave him a look, and Dean immediately backed down.

“Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again.” He knew the pressure his dad was under and expected some repercussions for being late and for that comment. But John didn’t dole out any punishments and instead just sighed.

“You all right, Dad?”

“Watch out for your brother while I am gone,” It was his standard order but his voice sounded off.

“Yessir. You know I always do.”

John was silent for a moment and Dean waited, a little tick of fear building up in him though he didn’t know why.

“There are some things we need to talk about.” He shook his head, “We will talk later.” And John was gone.

All the possible implications from that statement made Dean sweat more than all the Arizona heat combined. But one thing at a time. Right now he needed to fix things with Sam. Needed to apologize for bugging out and hoped Sam didn’t understand the rest.

Dean went in and the house was silent. He saw broken knick knacks on the floor and the tendrils of guilt crawled through his brain. Sam must have thrown a fit when he left, he could only imagine the shitstorm he had brought down on his head while Dean was off being an idiot. John was probably going to make him run 10 miles a day the whole time he was gone or scrub the house down with a toothbrush, to atone for this attitude.

He found their bedroom door locked, no surprise there. He knocked, tried to joke, was met with silence. He figured the kid was sulking, teenage angst and all. He thought about picking the lock.

“Come on, Sam, don’t be mad. I brought you back beer. Dad is gone, so you can have as many as you want and I won’t tell him, honest.”

More silence.

Or maybe it had clicked in what Dean was doing and Sam didn’t want to look at him. Maybe he thought Dean was gonna ply him with beer and bad touch him or something. Jesus. Dean slunk away from the door at that thought.

He was a major disgusting creep. Maybe he hadn’t done it, but he had thought about doing it, had thought about kissing Sam all the goddamned time. He couldn’t blame Sam for not wanting to talk to him. But he needed Sam to talk to him. He couldn’t stand it when Sam was mad at him. He popped open and downed two beers, adding to his buzz.

He stuck some frozen pizzas in the oven and fanned the smell toward the bedroom. He figured when Sam got hungry enough, and he was always hungry, he’d come out. Dean would find some way to fix it.

An hour passed and Dean shucked both uneaten pizzas into the fridge. He paced the living room.

His eye kept landing on the behemoth window air conditioner. Maybe he could make it up to Sam. Maybe he’d cool off if Dean actually cooled him off. The uh, brotherly way this time.

Dean was semi-drunk, but sometimes he functioned better that way. He began to pull apart the ancient A/C unit. He checked all the obvious things first: the filter, dirty coils, the condenser fan. But of course it wasn’t going to be something that easy.

Two hours in and every part checked, tightened, cleaned, a few things even replaced with parts he hobbled together in the garage, and the stupid thing still wouldn’t turn on. Sam still hadn’t come out of the bedroom. Which meant he was something beyond pissed—he was in there hating him, and he was right to, and why can’t anything in Dean’s life just fucking work? Dean hit the A/C unit with the wrench in his hand. He hit it again and a screw fell out, he hit it again and it kicked on, stuttered to life and blew cool air right up into his face. He let out a little triumphant noise. He sat down on the couch and listened to the sound of it finally working—of something finally working. A moment later he fell into a beer and stress induced sleep.

He woke with a start.

The house was dark. He hated when he fell asleep when it was light out and woke to darkness. The beer was cleared out of his head, the house was actually cooled way down, and…

Everything was too quiet.

He immediately flew to his feet. He knew something was wrong, he knew it down to his bones. He was pounding on their bedroom door a second later. When he still got no answer, he kicked the door in.

“Sam? Sam!”

The room was empty.

***

“Dad?” Dean’s voice came out in devastation.

“What’s wrong?” John asked immediately from the other end of the phone line.

Dean sat in the living room of the overly cold house now. He thought Sam was dead, that something evil had dragged him off. That he’d never see him again. Dean had checked the house for sulfur, EMF, everything he could think of but nothing showed up. He called their father.

“Sam is…I broke down the door, and he…I don’t know where.”

“You aren’t making sense,” John tried to stay calm.

“Sam is missing!”

John yelled but Dean was too dizzy with worry to hear him. He couldn’t breathe. His vision was going dark around the corners.

“Dean?” John finally realized his oldest wasn’t responding. “Take a deep breath, son. I’m three hours out. Don’t leave the house. That’s an order.”

“But dad!” The phone line went dead.

Dean got to his feet and for once completely ignored John’s orders. He couldn’t sit around twiddling his thumbs for three damn hours, while Sam was just, out there, somewhere. He jumped in the car to look for Sam.  
He was screaming Sam’s name out as he drove through the neighborhoods, he screamed it until his voice was hardly coming out at all. It wouldn’t matter if someone had taken him though, as if they were going to be like “Oh, here he is” He continued to scream it silently to himself anyway.

He had his EMF meter on the dashboard, kept his eyes open for anything suspicious, signs of the supernatural. He spent hours checking every place he could think of that Sam might go, school, library, hospitals. He checked all the places he could think of that bad things normally resided in, abandoned buildings, empty houses, dark corners. He drove until he felt like he covered every inch of Tucson. Kept driving frantically onward.

To love something more than you love yourself, more than life, to love it so much you’d give your very soul for it… then it to suddenly be gone, suddenly be missing. All he knew is that if there wasn’t a Sam there wasn’t a Dean. He always knew the truth of it, but never had to face it until now.

When nothing turned up, when he couldn’t think of anything else to do, Dean pulled over. He wrenched open his door, took two steps before he bent, went down to his knees and puked his fucking guts out all over the side of the road. He threw up until the muscles in his stomach ached and only bile and fear were left to come out. He was dry heaving even when he managed to climb back up into the car.

He was shaky and didn’t even remember making his way back to the house. Good thing his mental auto pilot was so finely tuned. The fear tripled when he saw his father had arrived before him already and was standing by his truck. He knew John was going to be furious, not only for Sam going missing on his watch, but the fact he had disobeyed him, ignoring a direct order and going out looking on his own.

When Dean got out of the car John strode towards him and throttled him. Hit him right there in the front yard, in the darkness, with the crickets chirping, on what was probably an ideal summer evening for most the rest of the world.

***

John was on the phone calling bus terminals and credit card companies. Dean didn’t know what to do. So he watched his legs shaking as he sat on the couch. They just twitched and shook in little convulsions. He could only remember being this afraid once before, and he didn’t want to think about that either.

His father hung up the phone and sat down next to him.

“Dean, I’m…” John's arms were around him out of the blue, hugging him. “It’s not your fault,” He said.

And Dean lost it. A punch he could take, he wanted John to hit him, wanted him to hit him hard enough that something would hurt more then what he was currently feeling. He didn’t know how to deal with a hug. He cried against his father’s shoulder.

John hugged him in tighter and patted Dean’s back, rubbing circles against him like he use to do when Dean was four years old.

“Stop it now, Dean. We need to think, okay?”

Dean’s lip was split and stung when he replied with his “Yes, sir.”

“Maybe we should call Bobby, see if he knows of anything going on in the area? Or…” Dean was saying but John shut it down.

“Sam has run away. Did he say anything to you lately about where he might go?”

Dean didn’t buy that for a second. “He wouldn’t do that, Dad!”

“Nothing took him, he ran away.” John sounded more than certain.

“No. Sam wouldn’t go like that. He wouldn’t just… leave!”

“Stop panicking and think, Dean. I've trained you better than this. Is anything missing?” he asked.

Dean got to his feet, sweating, trembling as he went towards their room. He had been so terrified that something had taken Sam, he hadn’t thought…

 _“If you leave me here…”_ Sam’s words suddenly ringing in his head.

Sam’s duffel was gone, some clothes, Dean’s apparently not so well hidden extra cash, the emergency credit cards, his stupid comic books and toothbrush for fucksakes.

Then it finally hit him. Sam left _because_ of him.

The next two weeks stretched out until they were some of the longest days of Dean’s life.

***

That was Dean’s version of events. That was his truth. But he and the Real Sam were standing in the memory of that same insufferable heat now and Dean realized there was more to the story…

Sam rubbed a hand up his own right arm, grimacing. “The last time Dad and I got into a fight was… bad.”

Dean could hear his father yelling, it was distant but getting louder. He hugged himself around Sam once more, felt the body he had always wanted to touch underneath this hands, and Sam had basically said it was his for the taking. He shouldn’t need every demon from their past exorcised first, he should just accept it.

“I believe you, Sam. Just stop it here okay? It’s enough.” Dean said.

“You believe me?” Sam asked. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and Dean wasn’t sure if that was due to the heat around them or the fear. He was still holding on to his arm, and he let out a little hiss of pain and backed away from Dean.

Without Dean noticing, he had turned into the young teenage Sam again. His brown flannel shirt was replaced with the old green hoodie he used to wear all the time in those days like a security blanket. The one that had gone missing when Sam himself had gone missing for those two weeks…

John was suddenly there, walking up to them and Dean growled and instinctively put himself in front of Sam, in the path of danger. Then he remembered they are in Sam’s head. This was just a memory of their father. There was nothing Dean could do.

“You aren’t leaving,” John said to Sam, looking right through Dean as if he wasn’t there.

Dean turned to look back at him. Sam was drenched in sweat, face red, he had obviously done whatever punishment his father had asked him, running laps, pushups, weapons training, the norm. He had just put on his hoodie despite the heat, and was shoving his feet into his shoes.

“If Dean can go out, then I can go out!” Sam replied directly to his father.

“You will respect me, Sam. You will listen when I am giving you an order.” John barked back.

Sam tied his shoes and headed towards the door, but John blocked it. “I’m not going to let you go running after Dean.”

“I wasn’t. I need to get out of here.”

“I don’t believe you, Sam. And I don’t understand. You are a good looking boy, You could have any girl. Why isn’t that enough?”

“I’m not going to look for him, I just need some space. I can’t breathe in here.” When John still didn’t move, Sam began to lose it, “Get out of my way.”

John stepped towards him. “Do not test me, Sam.”

“I wasn’t going to look for Dean. I already know where he is, what he is doing, I told him to go. And you let him because you want Dean to go out so he can go whore around those women because you think it is going to stop the way I feel about him. But it won’t, dad. I don’t care who else gets five minutes of his time,” Sam yelled, “Because Dean is _mine_!”

John made a grab for him.

“He is mine! He will always be mine!” Sam kept yelling it even as he backed frantically away from his father.

“Take us somewhere else Sam, take us out of this memory!” Dean tried, but Sam didn’t see or hear Dean now.

Sam was rabbit quick, trying to dodge his father. He knocked over chairs as he moved, swept the bad kitschy knickknacks off the table at John, he backed up the entire way the room would allow.

The memory smelled like alcohol and fear, and worst of all, blood again. No wonder Sam hardly drank since the smell alone was probably enough to bring up these bad places in his head.

John sidestepped and Sam mistook his direction, looking at his face and not his feet, and then it was too late. He was struck hard to the ribcage and he choked out a gasp of air. John looked like a huge nightmarish vision, all temper and rage.

Dean had always gone the rag doll approach when he was in trouble, the path of least resistance, but not Sam. He struggled and kicked and fought against their father, even landed a few defensive hits, a kick to his shin, just trying to keep him at bay. It didn’t last long as John was a trained fighter and though Sam was getting tall, John still outweighed him, especially in muscle.

Dean watched helpless as John took him apart until blood streaked Sam’s face.

Sam took the hits with the air of someone who was familiar with this type of pain. Dean knew then this wasn’t the third time it had happened. The “fight at school, ghost got me good on the last hunt, I fell…” were all excuses Sam had made up because he couldn’t tell Dean the truth. There must have been a long string of fights in between the ones he was shown.

This was just the _last_ time it happened.

Sam put his arm in front of him in a desperate block and John’s hand closed around it. “You are going to respect me, Sam, heaven help me!” John growled as he twisted Sam’s arm. “You aren’t going to act this way towards your brother. You tell me this is the last time I hear anything like this out of your mouth, the last time you even fucking think it. And you mean it!”

“No,” was all Sam said struggling at John’s hold.

“I said to say it!”

“Yeah, and I said no!”

John struck Sam with his free hand, but Sam didn’t back down, if anything it made him more determined.

“It’s a lie. It will always be a lie, no matter how many times you hit me. I won’t ever say it again!”

John reached his boiling point, and in a blaze of fury and violence, he twisted his hands and there was a crunch of bone. Sam let out a scream.

“I’m a freak! I’m a _freak_!” Sam yelled and John released him, arm broken.

Sam tried to scoot away, only to find the wall already at his back. He began to yell as the pain throbbed and shot through him.

John looked at him in horrifying clarity, the adrenaline and sound of Sam’s cries suddenly sobering him. He put a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

Sam put his good hand up trying to hold their father off, his eyes squeezed shut, chanting he was a freak, saying it over and over like a Hail Mary, like it might appease the gods of wrath in his father. He huddled down to the floor.

Dean didn’t know what to do, he dropped to Sam’s side but it was like he wasn’t there. Exactly like he wasn’t there, because he hadn’t been there that day. He had bolted, been off drinking trying to work through his own problems and left Sam to this, and now all he could do was bear witness.

Sam looked down at his broken arm, bent at an ungodly angle.

“I never… Jesus, I never meant to—” John said crouching down in front of Sam.

Sam looked back up. In that instant all the fear vanished replaced by enmity. His chin jutted out, an expression of defiance even under the blood and swelling of his face, even with the pain threatening to render him unconscious. “Do it,” he said, expecting John had crouched down to hit him again.

Dean was always impressed with how Sam could stand up to their father, he admired it really, and he was witnessing the true birth of it right now.

John Winchester had made grown men cry when he kicked their ass, Dean himself hardly talked back to the man, but here was a young Sam beaten bloody and broken and he was still looking him point blank in the eye, without a tear, in absolute defiance.

John rose to his feet, away from Sam. Dean could see him mentally chastising himself, making vows of never again. He paced the room as Sam’s eyes watched him. He collapsed in one of the room’s old chairs, only a few feet from Sam, it creaked with his weight. He was breathing heavy, his shirt was sweat soaked from the fight and the insufferable heat around them.

“Sam,” John started but apologizes were not exactly in his vocabulary.

“When Dean gets home and sees what you did–” Sam said in anger, self preservation the furthest thing from his mind.

It sent John’s hackles right back up. “Hell son, he is gonna kick your ass more than I did when he finds out what you are.” John replied to the threat then put a hand up to his head, angry with himself, trying to stop his temper. “Nothing I do seems to get it into your head that this isn’t okay. Maybe you need to hear it from Dean.” He reasoned.

Sam’s mouth flew shut with an audible click of teeth.

“What were you doing that made him run out of here right now?” John asked looking Sam over.

Sam said nothing, the streaks of red made the paleness of his frightened face jump out in contrast. It lit the fires back up in John.

“Did you see how fast he went to get away from you? Do you really think he will stick around if he ever finds out about all of this? So go on, you tell him. I’ll tell him myself the moment he walks through the door. Then he will leave, he’ll be gone, and what are we going to do? How can I keep you both safe then?”

"Safe," Sam mumbled and finally looked down, breaking away from his father’s unwavering gaze. Sam used his good arm to pull his bloody hooded sweatshirt closer around him, and cradled his broken bones. He whispered, “He wouldn’t leave me.”

John sighed heavily. “Pay attention. He just left. I don’t get it, how do you see this playing out exactly, Sammy?”

Sam’s face was so lost and alone and heartbreakingly _young_ when he looked back up at John.

“I’m in love with him, Dad.”

John scrubbed his hand over his weary face.

Dean too was taken aback. There was Sam openly admitting a feeling it would take Dean years to admit just to himself.

“I love him,” He said again and finally started to cry until it was impossible to tell blood from sweat from tears anymore.

Dean felt like an asshole. Sam had stood before him bearing his heart, told him he loved him and Dean had called him a liar, had pretty much proved John right. Dean had barely handled it now, let alone then. But Sam was right too, he wouldn’t have left him.

“You don’t even know what love means.” John replied. “No, you are going to grow up and stop it. We are at war here, we don’t have time for this.” He picked up the half empty bottle next to him, ignored the glass and took a swig straight from it.

“We don’t have time to feel, or think, or do anything that isn’t vengeance according to you.” Sam could be stubborn, and when he really decided to dig in his heels there is no removing him, not even in the face of danger that was John Winchester’s wrath. “We are people! We aren’t warriors. And I love him. I know exactly what it means, and I don’t care what anyone else’s rules or definitions are. There isn’t any stopping it.”

“Fine. If you love him, then you will love him enough to leave him alone. Have you even thought about Dean? What this is going to do to your brother? Are you really that selfish? I can’t believe I raised you to be like this. I don’t even know you any more, Sam.” John was really getting at him now, hitting him with words instead of fists. “Have you even…”

Sam looked down again as his father’s words continued to get harsher, trying to block them out. His eyes fell to his side, there along the baseboards amongst the bric-a-brac he had knocked to the floor that had come with the furnished house was a dusty old snow globe. The tacky kind you find in gift shops. Across the bottom was written “Flagstaff, Arizona. They don't make towns like this anymore!” Sam poked the globe with his finger, leaving a red smudge against the plastic. White flakes danced around the tiny smiling people inside. Peaceful.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Sam looked back up at John.

“I mean it was bad enough when I thought this was just some confusion you were going through, but now… what, Dean is there for everything else you need so you might as well see how far he will go for you? It’s repulsive.” John’s voice was on edge, he sounded afraid.

“It’s not like that. I’d never hurt Dean.” Sam said.

“So what then? You think Dean is sick like you? Because let me tell you he isn’t. He is never going to feel like that about you, and all you are going to do is lose your brother.”

Sam went silent. John watched him a moment then stood and walked toward him. He decided the conversation was over.

“Never again Sam, I mean it.” He bent like he was going to help Sam to his feet, but Sam just turned away from him.

“This is the last time I’m ever going to hear anything about it. That is an order, Sam.” He waited for that confirmation, the demanded respect whenever he issued them an order.

Sam had looked defeated when he had turned his head away, but when he turned back and met John’s eyes, there was nothing but rebellion in Sam’s returning stare.

“Go to hell, _SIR_!”

John wrenched him up to his feet by his broken arm and Sam let out a white-hot agony scream. Dean wanted to scream right along with him.

Dean loved their father so much. He had done everything he ever asked, given everything he ever had. But right now if he were standing in front of him…

“I’d slit his throat.” Dean snarled at the memory of John and he vanished. Dean pulled Sam, still screaming, in against him protectively.

“I’m a freak,” Teenage Sam cried out and clutched at his broken arm, then clutched at Dean instead. The rest of the memory vanished around them. They were back in the green room, Sam’s safe place, where the walls were covered in his own brand of protection symbols. Their initials, their loved etched into the walls.

“You’re not a freak. If you are then I’m a freak too. I’m right there with you.” Dean kissed his forehead and Sam calmed. “Shh, I gotcha now, nothing like that is ever gonna happen again. I wish you would have... doesn't matter now. I will kill anything that lays a finger on you.”

Sam was back to his current self, the favorite hoodie gone. No doubt it was tossed in the trash in reality, too covered in bad memories to ever wear again. It was replaced with black and white plaid now.

“I’m sorry I left you that day. I’ve never been sorrier for anything in my life.” Dean said as he ran his hand over Sam’s back soothingly.

“Dad set my arm, I passed out from the pain,” Sam said. “When I came too I made it to our room and I locked the door. I packed everything I could grab into my bag and I went out the window. But I waited for you.”

The memory played and Dean turned his eyes back to it.  
Sam was crammed into a tiny space between their yard and the neighbors, watching through the thorns of Arizona cactus and brush, he huddled down and all but vanished.

The Impala pulled up, and Sam stood up, wanted to run over to Dean, to cry, to be told he was okay. He wanted to tell Dean to come with him, just go. But then the front door swung open just as Dean hit the porch and John was there yelling. Sam sunk back down, hid himself.

He watched Dean, watched the expression on his face, and watched his father. Sam pulled his bag up and slowly made his way out of sight.

Dean understood it, could have only understood it this way, having seen it first hand, seeing why Sam needed to get out.

“I thought he was telling you about me. I was terrified to see your face, to see you look at me the way dad did. I couldn't have handled it. I just, I needed to get out of there. I took a bus, got all the way to Phoenix. Hitched the rest of the way, made it all the way to Flagstaff. I don’t know why Flagstaff, I just, I didn’t know anywhere else, so I went. I bounced around for awhile, stayed at a motel. Then I found that old shack, shut up for the summer. I was gone two weeks before you found me, but I guess you knew that part.”

They had never talked about Flagstaff, not once before this.

After Dean had found Sam’s missing duffel that day, he didn’t speak another word for those two weeks. He only slept or ate when John ordered him to, spent every waking moment looking for Sam until he finally got a hint of a trail, someone had seen a young guy hitchhiking that matched Sam’s description. Dean tracked him all the way up to Flagstaff, tracked him to the shack he had holed up in. Dean didn’t utter a word until he grabbed Sam up off the couch where he found him, hugged into his arms. Safe.

“Don’t you ever _ever_ do this to me again.” Dean had said, his voice raw from disuse, full of hurt and anger and relief.

“M’sorry.” Sam had replied.

It was all they ever said about it.

Everything had changed after that. Dean stamped down his feelings for Sam so deep inside himself they fractured off, locked behind a door in his mind. And Sam kept his distance.

Real Sam’s face went far off like he was reminiscing.

“I missed you so much. But I wouldn’t let myself think about it. I found a stack of postcards in a drawer though, and when I couldn’t stop, I’d write to you on them, every time I wanted to tell you something I wrote it down, pinned it to the wall, but pretended I mailed them. Eventually I pretended I was someone else all together. I felt free being away from dad, away from everything. I didn’t have anyone telling me what to do, watching me. I didn’t have to spend half my time researching monsters and the other half feeling like one. I loved those two weeks. I did whatever I wanted, I had control over everything. I was living off Funyuns and Mr. Pibb, I even had a dog!” Sam said with a smile, oblivious to just how serious Dean’s inner turmoil over it was all these years.

Dean almost wanted to laugh. He shook his head and laid a kiss on Sam’s innocent face.

“Then when you kicked in the door, when you found me, you looked pissed like you were gonna beat my ass, and I was terrified that you hated me. But then didn't, you were hugging me. And then I knew dad had been bluffing about telling you. It had just been another tactic to try and beat it out of me. So I came back with you. Dad didn’t hit me again but he still made my life hell all the more, and I defied him every chance I got. He knew what I was then, and I knew what he was.”

Dean thought of all the ways he saw Sam rebel against his father in those final years. How every order that came their way Sam challenged, questioned. Being told to get a haircut meant letting his hair grow long and shaggy. Soccer instead of bowhunting. Don’t waste time on the computer and Sam bought his first laptop. Get your head into hunting and Sam was all about wanting the average life. Dean had even harassed him about wanting the normal apple pie life. But Sam had shot back, “No. Not normal. _Safe_.” It wasn’t until just now that Dean understood that Sam wasn’t referring to demons and monsters.

“After Flagstaff I knew I couldn’t let it happen again because I never wanted you to look any differently at me than you were that day, I was too afraid. So I really tried. I kept my distance from you as best as I could.”

“I thought…” Dean trailed off, voice breaking.

Sam had gone from being Dean’s constant shadow, to finding any reason not to be near him. Dean had tried harder for a while after Flagstaff, went out of his way to try to gain that brotherly closeness back, but Sam shut down his attempts. Eventually, because he always gave Sam what he wanted, he gave him his space. They lost the one constant they had on their lives, each other. Sam grew angrier. Distant. Dean was hurt, mad at himself. And so it went until the space between them stretched all the way to Stanford.

“I’m sorry Dean, I was scared. The thought of you finding out.” Real Sam wrapped his arms around Dean, clung to him, “I’m sorry!”

“I thought… I always thought you had left because I almost kissed you. I didn’t know how to deal with that. I thought you hated me.” Dean said.

“You were going to kiss me?” Sam asked his face lighting up.

“Yeah. That is why I left that day. I didn’t know how to deal with it. I always thought you knew that. I thought that is why you left, why you went to Flagstaff… either because you were angry I left or angry I tried to kiss you.”

Sam smiled, a big smile, a real smile, as if everything else, all the bad they had just been dragged through was gone, all for the knowledge of a kiss.

“I spent years wondering what that look meant. You were going to kiss me.” Sam was smiling like a goof now. “I’m sorry I made you feel like that. All of it was my fault though, not yours. I knew what I was doing,” Sam confessed. “That day, you and the ice… I knew exactly what I was doing and I shouldn't have done it. But I wanted you to want me. I had been doing things like that for months, only, uh, more subtle. I just didn’t think any of them worked.”

“Yeah, right, you were a kid,” Dean said, but couldn’t fight the tingling waves of excitement at that thought, the wall of guilt threatening to melt with it.

“Are you never going to believe the things I tell you?” Sam leaned in quickly before Dean knew what he was doing and licked at the skin of Dean's neck and then he blew out a cool breath against the wet trail, until that tingly fluttery feeling was all over Dean again.

“Evaporation,” he whispered against Dean’s ear.

Dean’s body pressed involuntarily against Sam, pushed against him, the word driving out a breathy moan from him, and he sought out Sam’s mouth.

Sam grinned at the reaction but kept his lips out of reach. “I loved touching you, couldn’t believe you were actually letting me. Letting me put my fingers all over you. All I could think about was you and all the things I wanted you to do to me. I wanted to make you hard for me. I needed you to want me like I wanted you.”

Dean couldn’t stand it another minute, he put his hands in Sam’s hair and tugged him in to kiss him.

“Wait, I... I gotta tell you... I need to tell you the rest.”

“Don’t care,” Dean said trying to kiss Sam, but Sam put his fingers against Dean’s lips. Dean kissed them, kissed each digit and then began kissing his palm. Sam let out little throaty noises in return but pulled away.

“Yeah you do, you care. I saw all the hurt when I was in your head. You need to know the rest.” Sam was adamant, so Dean let out a long sigh and stepped back reluctantly.

“Well add this to the list then, Dean ticked off because Sam won’t kiss him,” And Dean grinned as Sam gave him a fast light kiss, too afraid for more, because he wouldn’t be able to think clear enough to tell Dean the rest.

“There, now shut up.”

Sam snapped his fingers and they were standing in a snowy parking lot.

“Sometimes you and I would just be joking around having fun and Dad would turn around and give me _that look_ and… I’d just get so angry. Then you’d get all quiet and keep asking if it was you, taking it personally, and how was I supposed to tell you, Dean? Then finally I started taking it out on you. I couldn’t do that and I had to get out of there.”

Dean remembered the day they were in now. Sam was seventeen, and Dean finally got to ditch the fake ID when he went into bars. It had started as one of their better days, so few and far between. They were in the car all day together driving from Missouri to Minnesota, they had laughed and joked, and enjoyed themselves. Neither knew why but it had felt like the old days as they followed behind their father’s truck until they reached the motel of the night.

They were bundled up in thin jackets that barely kept out the cold as they hauled their bags from the car. The world around them was blanketed in white, the roads were slush, but the motel parking lot was powdery and soft.

“Shut up buttface, Batman could kick anyone’s ass,” Memory Dean was saying still in his good mood as they carried their bags towards the motel.

“He doesn’t even have superpowers,” Sam pointed out.

“So?” Dean did his best Nicholson impression, “He has all those wonderful toys.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “What makes you so sure?”

“Cause I'm the oldest, which means I'm always right.”

“No it doesn't.”

“It totally does.” Dean dropped his bag and reached down for a hand full of snow.

There was a cold wet smack sound and Sam cried out in surprise.

“Yahtzee!” Dean laughed as the snowball he threw hit Sam directly in the back of the head and slid down the neck of his jacket. Dean scooped up another handful of snow, and began packing it together in a round little ball in his bare hands.

“Knock it off, Dean,” Sam’s voice was serious as he watched their father ahead of them unlock his own room and head inside. Dean’s face was all mischief and play.

“Nana nana nana Batman!” Dean tossed the snowball and it hit Sam right in the shoulder.

Sam looked like he was going to retreat into the safety of the motel, but then Dean rounded in on him and another cold clump hit him right on the side of the face.

“Oh, it is on!”

Sam dropped his bag and ran back towards the car, ducking behind it, gathering up snow and making as many snowballs as he could. Dean ducked on the opposite side of the Impala, but couldn’t control his laughter as if he was a kid again and it gave his position away. Sam began his assault of snowballs, one hitting Dean on the side of the head leaving his hair speckled with snow, two more hitting him in the chest and dampening the front of his jacket.

Sam continued, but Dean didn’t bother with the snowballs he ran towards him instead. Sam yelled out “Dude, don’t even!” But Dean did. He tackled him and landed on top of Sam in the cold wet drift of snow behind him. He grabbed up a handful and rubbed it into Sam’s hair.

Then his fingers were tickling into Sam’s sides as he lay on top of him. Sam let out a little cry and began laughing, “Stop, stop!”

“Not until you admit I’m right. Always right.”

Sam flailed and tried to get away but it made Dean even more resolute in getting a second scream out of him.

“Dean!” Sam squealed and laughed but wouldn’t admit defeat.

When the tickling failed to work Dean grabbed another handful of snow. Sam saw his opportunity and gripped his wrist and flipped him to his back, pinning Dean below him. Snow rained down over them both from the back of Sam’s jacket. After a few minutes of struggling Sam really got the upper hand, getting both of Dean’s hands pinned. Sam was panting above him.

“See there Batman, you have been defeated,” Sam snickered. “Give?”

Dean was smiling and checking his holds to see if he could get loose.

“Sam,” Memory John had walked out of his motel room next to theirs and was standing in the doorway, his silhouette dark against all the white around him. Sam instantly let go of Dean and got to his feet. “I need to talk to you,” John stared at Sam, eyes already full of accusations.

“You forgot about Alfred.” Dean said as Sam walked towards their father. John turned away and went back into the hotel room.

“I didn’t give, so that didn’t count,” Dean was still joking, not even noticing the tension as he picked up both of their duffel bags from the ground. Sam squared his shoulders and followed his father back into the room. “Ask dad if we are ordering in or driving through for dinner. Either way, I want pie!” Dean yelled after him heading into their own room, directly next to John’s.

“I wasn’t doing anything dad, we were goofing off,” Sam crossed his arms over his chest. John closed the door behind the two of them.

“Did I not make myself clear that I do not want you touching your brother anymore?” John’s voice was steady, sober.

“It isn’t like that I–”

“Excuse me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do not touch him at all. Unless we are on a hunt and he is injured, and even then only if I’m not there to help him first. That’s an order.”

“Yes, _sir_.” He said in a voice as lacking in respect as he could make it.

Real Dean realized that was why Sam stopped touching him. That even those rare hugs when he was injured were breaking the rules. He turned back to the Sam next him. He grabbed his hand and laced his fingers with Sam’s. A directed ‘fuck you’ to that memory. Sam smiled.

“Can I trust you to be in that room with Dean?” John asked.

Memory Sam scoffed and mumbled under his breath as he turned his head away.

“What?” John’s tone was dangerous as he walked toward him.

“I said what do you think I am? A rapist? I’m not going to touch him for christsakes. I get it, I’m a freak, I got it the first hundred times you said it.” Sam unconsciously rubbed his hand up his right arm.

“Sam,” His father’s voice went from anger to sadness all on his short name. “You are going to end up alone, and vulnerable, and I don’t want that. I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“Alone! I couldn’t get any more alone than I am right now. I can’t wait until I’m outta here.”

“You aren’t going anywhere.”

“I can’t stay here. I can’t live like this.”

“You can and you will.” The drill sergeant tone officially out.

“You’re a hypocrite,” Sam said.

It was like all the air went out of the room. His father hadn’t managed to beat his feelings for Dean away, but he had beaten out the respect Sam once held for John, and there it was laid out.

“You are. You’re a hypocrite. You kill people, you steal, lie, drink yourself stupid and you live outside all possible connections to society. And when I tell you I love Dean, that I don’t care about the rules either, you hit me. I don’t expect you to accept it, but you hate me, Dad. You hate me for who I am. So why even care what happens to me?”

“I don’t hate you Sammy. You’re my son. I’m scared for you.”

“It’s _Sam_.” He let out a huffed breath.

“You know the things we hunt, _Sam_. Do you really think you stand a chance out there on your own?” John asked.

“I think if we stopped going after every damn thing and poking it with a stick we’d be in less danger than now. So yeah, I think I’m gonna do fine on my own.”

“After everything we’ve been through, how can you possibly think that?”

“What do you want out of me?”

“What I expect out of you is to stop all of this. Be his brother, act like my son, and avenge your mother.” John said and then added, “Have you even thought about what it will do to Dean if you go?”

“Do _you_ ever think about Dean? You ever take five minutes away from that selfish obsession to think about him?” Sam shot back. “Is he never suppose to fall in love? Is he never suppose to get married, have a life? How dare you do that to him.”

“There will be time enough for that, we can’t stop until this is over, until it is finished.”

“Time! Look around dad, we could die any day doing what we do. You care more about a burnt up memory than you do about us.”

John was back to fierce, but Sam didn’t flinch. John walked towards him, got into his face, “You better listen right now…”

“Fuck you. Fuck this life.” Sam shoved John as hard as he could away from him, and John gave him back an open handed slap.

A spilt second of pain went across Sam’s features, his eyebrows knitting, but then it was replaced by the contempt that had been residing in him now for years.

“Satisfied?” Sam asked not backing down.

John’s fists balled at his sides again.

“Or do you need to see how much you can make me bleed before I officially hate you, before I finally hit you back? Because this is it.” Sam was like gasoline waiting for a match.

John didn’t move, but he studied Sam.

“Go ahead, hit me!” Sam yelled. “I’m leaving either way.”

When the blow didn’t come Sam shoved past John and stormed towards the door. “I’m gonna get so far away from you. Away from this life.”

“You aren’t going anywhere.”

Sam flung open the door to the room, only turning back to say, “You just watch me!”

Memory Sam pushed open the door to the room he was sharing with Dean, a swirl of snow following him in. He stomped in, didn’t bother to take his shoes off.  
“You all right little brother?” Dean asked concerned at how upset Sam obviously was.

Sam flung himself down on the bed, his snow covered jacket seeping into the comforter.

“Was dad mad about something? Did I… did I get you in trouble?” But all of Dean’s questions only got silence in reply.

Dean got agitated the more Sam ignored him. “Hey, jolly green jerkface, I’m talking to you.”

“Leave me alone, Dean.” Sam’s reply came through gritted teeth.

“Just tell me what happened. If dad was mad cause we were roughhousing I’ll go talk to him, I was the one that…”

“Leave me the fuck alone, Dean!”

Dean grabbed the pillow off his bed and threw it in Sam’s face.

Sam bounded off his bed in a blind fury and was on Dean a second later shoving him. His legs hit the bed and sprawled out backwards on it.

“What the hell?” Dean yelled trying to stand up but Sam shoved him again, pushing him flat down on the bed.

Dean moved to get up again. And Sam held up a fist like he was about to hit him.

Dean froze. Sam froze.

They both looked at one another, and then Sam bounded out of the room, the door slamming open as he went, leaving nothing but icy cold wind blowing in his wake.

Dean just sat there stunned.

Sam slunk back in later that night, Dean had turned off all the lights and was laying in bed. The light from the street still filtered in from the window. Sam took off his snow covered clothes leaving them in a mushy pile on the floor. The room was plenty warm, Dean had cranked it up, knowing Sam would be a popsicle by the time he returned. He slipped into his own bed in just his boxers. He buried himself in the blankets and they both sat in silence for a long time.

“Sam? Are you mad at me for something?”

Sam rolled over in his bed facing away. “No.”

“Listen, if I did something…” Dean said, looking at the back of Sam’s head.

“I hate this life. I hate all of it. I can’t wait until I’m out of here,” he huffed in reply.

Memory Dean rolled away to face the opposite wall too. He curled up small under his covers.

Unlike this memory in Dean’s head, in Sam’s it played on...

Sam sat awake, long after Dean had drifted off to an unhappy sleep. His anger had finally burned away and turned into sadness. Apologizes were written on his face. He rolled over and looked at his brother asleep in the other bed.

The truth of his own threats had finally hit him. He was going to leave. Which meant he had to leave Dean. Because no matter what he did he knew Dean would never leave John.

Unlike what his father had said, Sam had thought about him a lot, and leaving seemed the better option than letting Dean get hurt in the crossfire all the time. Sam let the tears roll silently off his face so Dean wouldn’t hear him.

Their secret wordless language, the way they could have full conversations with just looks back and forth had already faded away over those last years, until it only remained in the way they hunted together. By the time Sam was hinting at college a year later they could barely even communicate with actual words, their meanings getting lost in misunderstanding, their feelings turned to jokes, their love turned to silence.

Real Sam squeezed Dean’s hand that he was still holding. “When Dad told me never to come back, it wasn’t because I was leaving hunting, y’know. It was because he knew how I still felt about you, he was mad I couldn’t just stop it, mad I was choosing to leave you both over it. But I didn’t see any other choice. I liked school, it was something I was good at, something I felt in control of, knew I could do well. So I got my full ride and I got out of there, left for college. I was happy to never look back and feel that terrible about myself again.”

“Yeah, I remember, one of the worst nights of my life,” Dean turned his head down and away from Sam, but Sam pulled it back up and made Dean look him right in the eye.

“I never wanted to leave you,” Sam said and Dean could barely keep the eye contact up, hearing those words, without losing it.

“I saw it in your head,” Sam said, “You think I don’t care about you, that I just leave carelessly without saying goodbye. But I do that because I can’t say goodbye to you. If I tried to say it out loud I could never leave. I just pretend, I lie to myself, say I’ll see you soon in my mind, it is the only way I’ve ever been able to make it out of the door.”

The memory that was behind Sam now was him slipping stealthily through the darkness. His bag was slung over his shoulder.

Dean had known it was coming, knew Sam had gotten accepted, only Sam didn’t like to talk about it, didn’t tell him the dates, wouldn’t give him details. And so Dean didn’t press.

Sam knelt beside the bed where Dean was sleeping on his stomach, dead to the world. Sam leaned in and gently pressed a kiss to his temple. His last stolen kiss. Then he left through the open window, making sure the salt lines were still intact before he went.

“I snuck out of the house without waking you up because that was the only way I could leave. I stamped down all the sadness, and instead focused on Dad. Focused on how I did get away, how good it felt to finally be completely out from under him and on my own for good.”

“But then you,” Sam paused and swallowed the lump in his throat, “You showed up. You just, you sat there Dean and said bye, _you just said it_! Said it like it was just any other word. It broke my heart.”

The memory played.

“Bye, Sam.” The memory of Dean said and Sam bolted from the car. He nearly ran as he made his way back towards the bus that was boarding, tears streaking off his face as he went. He couldn’t turn, couldn’t let himself see Dean again. He wiped angrily at his eyes as he climbed onto the bus, not turning around, not once.

Sam refused to look, just stared to the other side of the bus. Then the sudden roar of the Impala made everything too real. This was it.

_Wait! Wait, wait, wait wait!_

His body was screaming for Dean to wait as he stumbled up grabbing his bag.

_It’s a mistake, I can’t go, don’t let me go!_

But Dean was already pealing out. Sam turned and watched out the window as everything he ever loved drove off. He dropped back down to his seat, he knew this was his decision, knew he had done this. But still.

_Wait, wait, wait, wait, please god, wait._

“I cried the entire way to Palo Alto.” Real Sam admitted, then looked up sheepishly, “as you would say, like a girl.”

The big thick block of ice that had entered Dean’s heart that day melted with Sam’s words.

“Sammy,” was all Dean got out, but he tugged him in close.

“I wanted to call you every single day. I was trying my best to walk away, forget, be someone else, be normal. I felt like I didn’t have a choice. It was either be a freak or be someone else entirely. A year rolled by and I was getting pretty good at believing my own stories. And then Brady introduced me to Jess. I didn’t want to be alone.”

“But you were gonna marry her, weren’t you?” Dean asked.

“Yeah. I was. I think when everything around you is a lie, and you become a lie, it is harder to tell right and wrong from each other. She was good to me, made me smile, helped me move past a lot of things, helped me fit in. I did love her, not like I should have, but I did. I thought maybe that would be enough. I needed it to be. She was so near perfect. She just had one fatal flaw…she wasn’t you.”

Sam looked away, pain and sorrow. “I was selfish though. I’m going to avenge her. If it wasn’t for me she’d still be…”

“I know you are. We are. We are going to find that yellow eyed bastard together.” Dean didn’t feel any of that old jealousy towards her any more. Right now he felt grateful for her existing in Sam’s life, being there when Dean wasn’t. He felt sad for her, felt some of Sam’s need for vengeance.

Sam nodded. It wasn’t the time for that now. Now he needed to make sure Dean understood.

“Well, then you showed back up. You were just there, outta nowhere. And that was all it took. You had me pinned on the floor and I looked up at you and it made me realize everything I was building, this whole life felt ridiculously fake. Seeing you was the first time I had felt right in years, felt like the first time I was breathing again. And god, I’m sorry for what I said, but I was so mad at you for that. I knew deep down I’d only ever feel that way about you, every time I looked at you I knew the truth of it. I didn’t say those things that night you came back because you were nothing. I was mad because you were _everything_ and I knew I couldn’t have you, and it hurt.”

Dean didn’t know what to say, he was a man of actions, not words, so he put his hands on Sam’s arms, held them. A touch for forgiveness and I’m sorry.

“I tried to fight my feelings, tried to go back, deny it. Even for months when we were back out on the road, I was still trying to convince myself otherwise, saying I was going to go back to college, try again,” Sam explained, “even when I knew I was lying to myself still.”

“I think the only reason Dad talks to me now is because he thinks I succeeded, he saw me with Jess, saw me with women, he thought I outgrew you. But then time passed and you just seemed happy to have me back, to have Dad showing up once in awhile. We were just starting to be brothers again. And I just wanted to be near you. I decided finally to just… just be okay with it. Stop fighting it and except the existence I had. That there wasn’t going to be anything more in life for me then to be quietly in love with you. So I’m sorry I hurt you, it is the last thing I wanted to do.”

All these revelations were making Dean’s head spin. All his memories of these times, his worst days, had only been half truths, now made whole and looking so entirely different.

“I wish I had known any of this.” The words didn’t feel big enough to encompass everything he was feeling.

“Me too,” Sam said sadly.

There was a long silence between them as they both thought over everything new. One word was all it would have taken, one word from either side and so much pain could have been avoided.

“Can we… Sammy please.” Dean’s voice was desperate, “Can we try this again?”

Sam was confused for a second, and then got it and smiled the dimpliest smile he had.

“Dean, I am so damn in love with you.”

Dean grabbed Sam, swung his giant frame down like he weighed nothing, so that he was holding Sam in his arms, swept off his feet like in all those terribly clichéd romances that Dean secretly loved, and finally _god! finally_! he let himself kiss Sam like he had always wanted to, nothing held back.

It shook everything else in the world away until nothing else remained, only Sam. Sam kissing Dean.

“I love you,” Sam said as he kissed him. Dean wanted to swallow those words, wanted them to become part of him, wanted them to be stitched into his skin, across the muscle of his heart. He wanted those words to be such a deep part of him that they could never be taken away, they can never leave, they can never burn. They would be his forever.

“I love you Dean, I love you, I love you,” Sam kissed the words into him just as desperately.

“I love you too, Sammy, too much.”

“Dean? You’re crying.”

“What? Am not.” But yeah he was.

Sam wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck and pulled him as if he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t get the press of Dean’s mouth against his enough until Dean could feel, without a doubt, the true ferocity of Sam’s want, Sam’s love.

“Want you, god, Dean, want you to—”

And Dean just said yes, yes to everything, to Sam, yes to hands drawing him to lips, yes to all things Sam could ask for, yes he would, anything, yes!

And there was that mischievous look on Sam’s face again. “You’re never gonna doubt me again…”

He snapped his fingers.

 

To be continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was long! You’re welcome. Or I am sorry. Whichever you need.


	13. Free From Sin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanna wrestle with me baby  
> Here's a sneak, little peek  
> You can dominate the game cause I'm tough  
> I don't play around that often  
> When I do, I'm a _freak_  
>  So you'd better believe I like it rough  
> \- Simon Curtis  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://s1156.photobucket.com/user/That_was_HOT/media/OrTwo_zps6284c564.jpg.html)  
>   
> 

Sam grabbed Dean’s hand and led him with a tug. And Dean? Yeah, he would have followed Sam anywhere about now because Sam smiled like he felt honest to god happy, looking back over his shoulder in a way Dean hadn’t seen in a long time - more than a long time. Years. Dean was so busy watching Sam that it didn’t even register where Sam had snapped them to.

Not until that is, he saw a vision of Sam completely naked and covered in pie.

Real Sam laughed as Dean did a literal double take.

The fantasy of Sam laid out like a kinky pie buffet was ridiculous, and hot, and ridiculously hot. Dean watched a version of his current day self licking a line of red cherry filling from off the contours of Sam’s stomach.

Real Dean felt like one of those horny wolves in the old cartoons. Like his eyes must be popping out, tongue unfurling, wanting to howl and whistle and stamp his foot at what he was seeing.

Fantasy Sam pushed on Dean’s head, making him go lower to lick and suck at his apple pie covered cock. Sam threw his head back with a loud moan, his hips raising up and falling as the Dean between his legs thoroughly enjoyed his…pie.

Sam had plunged them both into the deepest fantasies of his psyche. And now, damn near giddy, he tugged Dean along to the next fantasy, which starred them both naked in the backseat of the Impala after a hunt, Sam on his back, feet pressed against the roof as Dean held his hips up. And the next, which was Dean in a gym teacher outfit, whistle between his lips…until something else took its place, and then the next fantasy, the next, and the next.

Dean felt unable to get enough of Sam and what he was showing him. It was like they were both love drunk. Dean grabbed a fistful of Sam’s hair at that thought, the thought that Sam loved him, and he drew him in for a kiss. Kept kissing him until Real Sam was moaning against his mouth and nearly losing all coordination. Dean was so in love with Sam he felt stupid with it, so he thinks it only fair Sam join him.

Sam suddenly pulled back, overwhelmed, and vanished.

“Sam?” Dean called, looking around. He realized what was happening.

Dean had always compartmentalized his feelings, especially those for Sam. In the dark hours of the lustful night, when the throbbing demand between his legs got too great, he let himself go and fantasized about Sam. Afterwards he would be so gripped with sickness and guilt he could hardly stand it. Which is where he finally broke himself off, let it be some other Dean doing those things, some… Dark Dean. It was how he had coped.

Sam, on the other hand, was telling the truth, he had never been ashamed for what he felt for Dean. There was no ‘Dark Sam’ to be found in his head. Real Sam had vanished into fantasies, completely a part of them. That knowledge in of itself, that there was no separation between Sam’s self and his want of Dean, may have been the most erotic thing Dean had ever known.

Sam had more to show him, and everything began to move faster. Fantasies began to fly passed so fast Dean hardly had a moment to register all he was seeing. In some of the encounters, he could feel what Sam was feeling and hear his thoughts. Dean could hardly keep up with the sensory overload.

_Whoa! What the hell was that? And my, my, isn’t my brother a kinky son of a bitch!_

While he knew Sam was incredibly smart, there were things here that no man could dream up in a single day. No, these are years upon years worth of repressed wishes. All starring Dean. Loved, naked fucked and loved again Dean. Sam was right. After seeing all of this Dean would never doubt Sam’s want of him ever again…

 

♡♡♡

There are so many shower fantasies, it sounded like a waterfall in Sam’s head. Steam billowed out around everything.

There was a feeling of constant want around these fantasies. Sam kept opening the door, pulling back the shower curtain, even getting in, but it was as if his imagination wouldn’t let him fill in the blanks. Wouldn’t provide Dean naked and wet and coming.

The fantasies always veered to places Sam had seen Dean just outside the shower.

Sam on his knees looking up as Dean opened the bathroom door, dripping water all over him as he dropped his towel, or Sam shoving him backwards onto the tile floor the moment Dean reappeared.

But they did nothing to ease the want. Sam _really_ hated shower curtains.

♡♡♡

Sam was hugging Dean. Hugging him close, arms around him, beyond brotherly, beyond love. Sam let out a contented little chuff, and continued to hold on to Dean for as long as he wanted.

♡♡♡

“One more?” There was a small desire tinged plea in Sam’s voice.

Nineteen year old Dean trailed the ice cube all over Sam’s back while they lay on the bed in the heat of Arizona. He was running his fingers all over Sam, openly touching him as much as he liked. Dean sat up and pulled the back of his brother’s shorts up and ran the ice cube down the line of Sam’s ass, letting his fingers brush along the sensitive skin. He chuckled as he watched Sam squirm.

“Not there, Dean,” fantasy Sam begged breathlessly as the ice began to melt and the cold drips slid along the skin of his backside.

“Oh yes baby, _right there,_ ” Dean said, tugging Sam’s shorts down his legs until his ass was bare. “You’re going to take it for me.”

Sam tried to stifle his moan and Dean smiled wide as he took his shorts off entirely. He pushed the rapidly melting ice cube deeper, until his fingers held it against Sam’s tight little hole, pushed until Sam was whimpering and begging wordlessly.

“I know you like it. You think lying on your stomach means I won’t know how hard your cock is getting from this?”

And those words pulled Sam’s trigger, he began to moan Dean’s name, his hard dick rubbing into the precum and ice water wet mattress. “Dean, _Dean please_.”

“Yeah, there we go, that is what I wanted. I love how innocent and shy you are, Sammy,” Dean said smiling. “Innocent that is, until I start touching you, and you turn into a little slut for me.”

Sam was blushing, but moaning too as Dean’s cold fingers ghosted over his hole, illustrating Dean’s point. So innocent, so sinful.

“Spread your legs, I wanna see,” Dean said. Sam balled up the sheets in his fists, but he spread his legs slowly apart. “Wider,” Dean’s voice was a rumble of want, and Sam shivered but got to his knees and spread himself open for Dean. Dean began circling his hole with the ice, then his fingers, then the ice again, kept going until a further litany of ‘Please’ and ‘God’, and ‘Dean’ came spilling out over Sam’s lips, until he spread himself even wider adding invitation to plea.

Dean began pushing the ice against his tight ring of muscle, letting the cold burn push its way in. Dean finally got the ice all the way inside him, kept pushing until the tip of his finger followed it, held it in. Sam gasped.

“Feel good?” Dean asked, but Sam was too gone to reply. He began making sweet needy sounds, the blush reaching his ears. He canted backwards ignoring the impossibly cold burn to try and get more of Dean’s finger inside him.

“You are so hot. What else do you think you can you take for me, Sammy?” Dean said grasping his own hardening shaft and jerking it slowly with his hand. And Sam came all over himself at the thought.

♡♡♡

Dean was in his pajamas stretched out on his stomach on the bed. His arms were hugged around a pillow as he watched TV. Sam draped himself out over him like a big Sammy blanket, his chest to Dean’s back, their legs intertwined.

Sam hands found their way under Dean’s shirt, running fingers over Dean’s sides. He leaned his head down and set it against Dean’s shoulder. He was loving on Dean in complete contentment. Dean smiled as Sam pressed a kiss against his back.

♡♡♡

Memory Sam watched Dean digging up a grave. It was one of those sauna summer nights in the south when the air was so humid you felt like you were breathing in lung-fulls of water. Sam was covered in sweat and grave dirt. He had the first round of digging and now it was Dean’s turn. There was a chorus of crickets, the sound of dirt hitting dirt, and best of all the grunts and hard breathing of Dean. Sam let his mind pretend the exertion noises were from something else.

After a minute he stood up straight and scanned the area around them. He was supposed to be keeping watch. Well, he was watching all right. Watched as Dean reached down and pulled up his shirt. Watched right until Dean turned towards him and threw the sweaty shirt at Sam’s face with a laugh. Besides coming out of the shower, or when he was injured, it was one of the few times Dean ever got shirtless around Sam. Dean went back to digging, and Sam was transfixed as he always was by a shirtless Dean.

It shouldn’t be erotic, most people would be horrified, or at the very least unsettled by what they were doing, digging up bodies. But their lives were weird. Sam would never be normal, he had accepted it now. So he let himself have this, these moments where he got to ogle Dean as much as he wanted.

The memory drifted to fantasy...

Dean tugged Sam down right there in the graveyard, pulled him down onto the wood of a casket, spread him out under his bowlegs and fucked him above the bones of some vengeful spirit. Ejaculate has salt in it after all...

♡♡♡

What are you doing here Dean? Fantasy Sam asked as he stood with the door to his first apartment open behind him. Dean was sitting at Sam’s college issue kitchen table, cocky grin in place.

“You really think I’d just let you leave me?” Dean asked as he got up and walked past Sam and closed the door.

“I didn’t think that you even cared what…” was all Sam got out, for as he turned around Dean crushed his lips against him and popped the button on his jeans in one fluid motion.

“Is this what my little bitch wanted? This why you left?” Dean was pushing his hand down the front of Sam’s pants, tugging rough at his dick. “You’ve had this coming to you for years.”

Sam’s eyes darkened. His hands dug into Dean’s shoulders. That’s all it took to have him nearly there. “Oh, god yes.”

“C’mon, College Boy, I want to hear you come. I want you so loud your neighbors call the cops.”

♡♡♡

Fantasy Dean was tied to the headboard of a bed with rope. He still had his jacket on as it couldn’t be taken off once he was bound, but the rest of him was stripped bare, his t-shirt ripped open. Sam pounded his ass with a rhythm that suggested he was releasing some of the anger out between the two of them. Dean let out a sound somewhere between pain and pleasure.

“It’s wrong!” Dean yelled, even as he thrust back up against Sam, even as he moaned when Sam began to stoke his hand up Dean’s cock. “So fucking wrong,” but the tone in his voice said it was so fucking right.

“Don’t try and tell me you don’t want this, Dean,” and Sam fucked him even harder.

Dean just grunted but his eyes went down to where Sam’s body was connecting with his own.

“See what you do to me, Dean? Look what you do.”

♡♡♡

The memory of Sam stared out their bedroom window watching Dean wash the car. All wet muscle that bent and flexed and moved as he stroked the soft rags over the Impala, his pants riding low on his hips as he leaned over his baby. Sam seriously wished he was an Impala right now. Sampala.

After awhile Dean turned on the hose and sprayed it over the car. Then he held it over his head for a moment, let the water splash down over him to cool off. Sam couldn’t handle a second more. His hand went down to touch his balls and his hard cock through his pants. A second later without any thought he pulled himself out and he began to jerk off right there in front of the window while he grunted and bit his lip watching Dean bend over again.

Damn Dean with his sixth sense! He suddenly turned toward him and Sam fell to the floor on instinct.

Sam crawled over to the bed beyond where Dean could see him. His dick was already a mess against his boxers as he pulled it completely free. He pumped it fast, ready to come after just a minute of stroking. He couldn’t stop now, didn’t care if Dean walked in and saw him—

“Awwkward,” Dean said which snapped Sam out of fantasies and sent him scrambling for a pillow to hide behind. How the hell had Dean gotten in the house so fast? He closed their bedroom door saying, “A sock on the door knob goes for babes and beat off sessions, dude.”

Sam took a few panicked breathes and stared at the closed door. His hand flew back to his dick and he began to pump it, mouthing Dean’s name, getting off like a freight train on the fact Dean had seen him. Had seen him naked and hard and two seconds away from coming.

_Real Dean had remembered that, had bolted out of there ‘not thinking’ with all his strength. Trying to suppress everything he had seen. But that night he had climbed into bed only to realize it was his pillow Sam had pressed against his dick in an effort to hide himself. Dean had days of breathing in Sammy every night, and he couldn’t help but come to that for months afterwards._

♡♡♡

Sam was on Dean’s lap, endless inches sliding slowly into his ass, until he is resting flush against Dean’s shaking thighs.

Just that, played over and over and over again in Sam’s mind.

♡♡♡

Memory Sam had just finished rubbing one out in the shower, chasing after the smell of Dean’s spunk in the steam as he had used the shower right before him. Normally that would leave him in a pretty good endorphin fueled mood. But today it pissed him off.

He was getting dressed, his eyes looking over the mess of hair gel and deodorant and everything else Dean had scattered all over the cramped bathroom. His temper was already short, but even these small things were getting on his nerves now. He looked down to see Dean’s dirty clothes on the floor. His hand brushed over his cock, hard again. He jacked off fast and rough, and a few tugs later was spilling all over the sink, still with no real relief. Though he grinned a little when he saw his come on Dean’s toothbrush, he washed it off quick, and fuck, he was hard again.

After he came unhappily for the third time, he tugged on his pants and pulled on the longest shirt he owned. He flipped open his phone, called Bobby for the millionth time that day, but got no answer. Sam hung up.

Stupid witches, their stupid spells. Like he needed a fucking no-downtime love spell on him when he was already in love. He drank some water out of the tap, a little worried about dehydration at this point. Then plopped himself down on the side of the tub, tried to clear his mind.

“Sammy? You fall in in there or what?” Dean called from the other room.

“I’m fine!” Sam snapped, his voice angrier then he meant it to be.

“You sure have been a moody bitch all day!” Dean yelled back through the door.

“I have food poisoning, okay? Leave me the hell alone,” Sam said. He hated all this lying. He hated how chaffed his dick was getting. Hated coming when it gave him no satisfaction, hated knowing if Dean so much as breathed on him he could probably have the best orgasm of his life. He already felt like he had no control over how his body responded to Dean, but this was fucking ridiculous. He hadn’t filled Bobby in on the details obviously, but he had told him enough to help him find a solution. Love spell, how hard could that be? He should have called him back already.

“Sorry, Sammy, anything I can do?” Dean asked through the door, much closer this time.

_Go away. Or fuck me._

Sam let his head hang. He was already getting hard again.

♡♡♡

Dean smiled big and broad at Sam as he talked about his favorite songs and what it was that made the bands great, and the concert or two he had snuck off to see. Dean rarely rambled, and Sam kind of loved when he did. They were sitting on the hood of the Impala, beers in hand, leaning back against the glass, shoulder to shoulder. It was just dark enough that he could look at Dean all he wanted without Dean noticing much, but light enough he could still drink in all the lines that made him up.

Sam tried to fix this moment in his memory. Tried desperately to remember this day, this exact day as so many slipped away and he wanted them all. Especially now that Stanford was looming so close and good days were so rare between them anymore.

Sam tipped his beer back and then asked Dean a question, which got his brother talking excitedly again. Sam smiled in a melancholy type of happiness. God. He loved Dean.

♡♡♡

“Dad wants us training today, so get your ass up,” Memory Dean said.

“I don’t care,” Sam replied without moving a muscle.

“He’s given us an order.”

“I don’t care,” Sam repeated even more firmly.

Memory slipped to fantasy…

“Not even if I tell you it will end with some… endurance training?” Dean’s grin more than expressing the fact it was very definitely about sex and not training. Sam got up so fast he stumbled.

“Gotta make sure you can last,” Dean said and Sam was already lunging for him.

He grabbed Sam and pinned him to his back effortlessly.

“Come on Dean!” he was already begging.

“See, this is why we gotta train, it shouldn’t be so easy to take you down. If you can pin me, you can have what you want, until then, this is all you are getting,” Dean ground his hips down teasingly and then released Sam.

The fantasy and memory were intertwined, real moves they practiced, all the times Dean got the upper hand that day, but with fantasy interwoven, with Dean touching Sam, teasing him, getting him hard for it.

Sam tried his best, but fighting was like breathing to Dean. Dean dodged a punch, his own connecting without much force to Sam’s shoulder.

He shoved Sam down to his knees again, both hands behind his back, his leg between Sam’s legs, grinding with almost enough friction to get him off. Dean shoved him forward until Sam’s face was pressed to the side in the carpet. He twisted his arm, and it became the perfect mix of pain and pleasure for Sam, and he let out a little cry. But just as Sam’s body tensed, Dean let him go again.

Then Dean got a look in his eye, tilted his head, leaned in like he was going to kiss Sam, and Sam melted and leaned forward only to get an elbow to the ribs and a ‘the things we fight don’t fight fair’ speech. Dean blocked a volley of punches thrown by Sam after that, but it was just a distraction for Sam to sweep his legs.

Dean found himself flat on his back with Sam smiling down at him. He kissed Dean like he was the ultimate reward.

♡♡♡

The ghost of the dead woman climbed over the seat and on top of Sam. Her tattered white dress barely kept her ample chest covered as she leaned over him, but Sam didn’t even glance down at her.

“You can't kill me. I'm not unfaithful. I've never been!” Sam was struggling against her.

“You will be.”

Sam shook his head as she forced a kiss on him. He reached for the keys still in the ignition, trying anything to get her off of him.

“You have true love but you marry another, the union is a betrayal to its very core.” She said as her beautiful face turned into a grotesque corpse.

“It’s unrequited!” _Leave it to Sam to use big words as he was being attacked._

The woman in white buried her fingers in his chest and Sam began to yell out in pain.

“It’s still unfaithful in your heart,” She hissed digging her fingers in further.

The window of the Impala exploded a second later as Dean shot her through the glass.

♡♡♡

Fantasy Dean dropped to his knees just around the corner of the bar. Pulling Sam’s jeans down, exposing the only temple Dean would ever worship at. “Jesus, Sam, you’re gorgeous.”

“Shh, someone is gonna hear you, Dean,” Sam said in a drunken whisper.

Dean started kissing the skin of his belly, letting his tongue lick at the precum the head of his cock had left against it. Little words of praise kept slipping past his lips, words like jawbreaker, and fucking ridiculous, and hot, but most getting lost against Sam’s skin. He was still talking, even as his lips brushed the head of Sam’s cock.

Sam let his head lean back against the brick wall, breath coming out fast. “That what you want Dean? You want everyone to see you?” Dean let out a moan as he took Sam into his mouth.

“Yeah, you want everyone to see you on your knees for me.” Sam was still talking in hushed tones, his words coming out with breathy little pauses between them. “Anyone could too, they could walk around the corner right now and they’d see what you do to me.” Sam tried to get a grip on Dean’s short strands, finally managed to get enough of his silky hair woven between his fingers to yank Dean’s mouth down his length until he nearly choked. He held him there a moment. “They will see all the dirty things I _make_ you do.” Dean was sucking him off like a porn star now.

Sam looked down to see Dean's arm working between his own legs, hand shoved down the front of his jeans, jerking himself off while he licked shamelessly at Sam.

The sight followed by the rumble of Dean’s deep voice against his sensitive flesh as he hummed his praises, made Sam forget all about being quiet. He came loud enough that everyone three states away should have been able to hear him.

♡♡♡

Sam leaned forward and blew out the candles on the cake. 21.

“What did you wish for?” his friend Brady asked.

_Dean with a big red bow tied around him sitting naked on the hood of the impala flashed by._

“I bet I know,” Brady grinned.

_I bet you don’t,_ said the look on Sam’s face. “Same thing I’ve always been wishing for every year since I was a kid.”

_A quick flash of all Sam’s birthday wishes, which all consist of Dean naked in one form or another flashed by._

“Oh? Do tell.”

“Can’t tell you or it won’t come true,” Sam smiled and dodged the question.

His friend shrugged. “Same wish since you were a kid, don’t you think maybe it is time to wish for something new?”

“Can’t. It’s all I want.”

♡♡♡

The memory of young Dean was sitting with his back against the beds headboard, ‘reading’. He was so lost in it, he didn’t see Sam watching him, didn’t notice him until he was almost right next to him.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked.

“Uh,” Dean said, hiding the magazine behind his back. And then Sam _had_ to know.

He jumped onto the bed and climbed on top of Dean and made a grab for it, his hands going from one side to the other around Dean. Sam kept grabbing until Dean gave it up. He handed it over and Sam snatched it from his hands and turned around quickly so Dean couldn’t change his mind and grab it back. He was still in his lap, his back to Dean, he was about to move when he looked at what he was holding.

John’s Playboy Magazine. The busty Anna Nicole spread lascivious across the red cover. Dean had handed it over because the thought of ripping it, having to put it back in dad’s duffel that way, had scared him.

Sam didn’t move, instead he leaned his back against Dean’s chest and opened it. He could feel Dean watching him over his shoulder, looking between the magazine and him.

“Sam,” Dean said and tried to push him off, but Sam stayed right where he was, nestled in Dean’s lap. He liked it.

He flipped to the next page of buxom naked women, and kept flipping.

In the memory most of the images were fuzzy, as if Sam didn’t recall what he was seeing.

What was crystal clear was Dean’s hardness as it pressed up against Sam’s body. The way his hand tightened around Sam’s slender waist when he shifted in Dean’s lap. Neither said anything as they continued to look through the magazine together.

They had never really spoken about it again. But Sam had thought about it _a lot_.

♡♡♡

_Goddamn_ Dean looked good in a tux. The fantasy is just Dean, all 007 in his tux, flirting with Sam.

♡♡♡

Dean’s hands were bound above his head with leather straps that held him so taut he was on his toes just to stay standing. He was blindfolded, and his plush pink lips were wrapped around a red ball gag, his bottom lip stretched tight around it, and the smooth surface glistened with his spit. He was completely naked, a cock ring tight around the base of his dick keeping him dripping but not coming. His body had sucked on bruises on his neck, down his chest. Sam’s cum was smattered on his stomach, dripped down his legs.

Sam sat naked in a dark red leather chair a few feet from Dean. His dick in hand, he was slowly stroking himself back to hardness as he drank in the obscene vision of his brother before him. He got up and walked around Dean, admiring him, running his fingers all over him, through his mess of cum, down the line of his ass, over his arms pulled tight. Dean’s legs were shaking by the time he was done.

He lowered Dean down until he was on his knees. He snapped the gag out of his mouth. It dropped wet to the floor.

“Sammy,” Dean gasped, still blindfolded.

Sam pulled his head up with one finger under his chin. “You are mine,” is all he said and Dean let out a soft cry then opened his mouth for Sam.

Sam rubbed his cock against Dean’s tongue, painting it with his fluid, making him taste it, before Dean eagerly wrapped his mouth around him.

“God, you are so beautiful,” Sam said. Dean may have been the one bound, but Sam was the one held prisoner.

♡♡♡

All the close up flashes of things began, the little things that go through one’s mind as they tip over the edge to bliss.

Dean in leather. The dusting of freckles across his nose. Winking at Sam in bars. The dip in his chin, the curve of his jaw. The shape of Dean’s mouth as he said Sam’s name. His temper lost, breaking things. The power of his body as he went in for a kill. The shape of his ass in jeans. The soft hairs on his arm and the flex of his bicep. The fall of his lashes over the green of his eyes. Dean leaning against the Impala. His tongue slicking over his bottom lip in an unconscious habit. The pads of Dean’s fingers as they touched Sam’s skin.

Millions of memories, of tiny little insignificant, but most-important-things in Sam’s world.

_Sammy…_

 

***

Real Sam was there again coming towards Dean straight out of his fantasies. He was a walking wet dream, inside his own wet dreams which would now forever be part of Dean’s own kinky dreams… and _no_ Dean wasn’t going to analyze it right now, he was going to fucking enjoy it.

He enjoyed the way Sam was looking at him, with eyes of lust and love and all the things Dean had always wanted to see in them as Sam’s lips met his again. Dean enjoyed all the feelings in himself that he had been denying, enjoyed letting them run rampant through him now because Sam was there, saying it was more than okay, saying he wanted him too.

A second later and Dean found himself shoved backwards. He was on his back, replacing the fantasy Deans in Sam’s head. Sam crawled towards him from the foot of the bed on all fours and advanced up over him until he was between his legs licking up the inside of his bare thigh. _And when the hell had he lost his pants? And oh god oh god oh god._

Sam’s tongue on his skin, so close to where he never thought Sam’s mouth would ever be, it was too much. Sam reached up a hand to the band of his boxers and began to tug.

Suddenly the world tipped and Dean found himself on his knees, Sam’s hand tilting his face up. His fingers rubbed along his jaw, his other hand fingering the hard line in his jeans. He began to unzip.

The world shifted again and Dean was suddenly bent over the arm of a couch. Sam’s hand smacked against his ass unexpectedly and Dean yelled in surprise. Sam smacked his ass again, and Dean seriously almost lost it all over the couch.

“Sam! Stop being a cocktease!” Dean yelped, trying to reel in his impending climax.

Sam just laughed as he pulled Dean up. The room around them vanished, and he put his hands against Dean’s chest and pushed him up against a smooth wall that had appeared behind him. It was cool like ice against his back, felt smooth when he touched it with a hand behind him. Sam kissed him again all hungry and wanton.

Dean reached both hands up to touch Sam’s face but his brother caught his arms by his wrists. In one fast motion Sam spun him, forced him facing against the wall and pressed his body in against Dean’s back. Dean’s eyes fell closed and he let out a moan when he felt how hard Sam was too, the full length of his body pressed up against him, his dick right center against Dean’s ass and pushing as much into him as he could get with their small bit of clothes still separating them. Sam pressed Dean’s hands against the glass. He covered the back of them with his own hands, forcing them flat, holding him there while he whispered against his ear, “Look.” And Dean finally opened his eyes and saw.

_Holy Vatsyayana fucking fuck!_

“You _are_ a freak,” Dean panted staring out at the sight before him. They were in a glass room, glass walls, glass floor, high up above and looking down. “But you are _my_ freak. My freaky little Sammy.” Dean claimed that word back for them forever, and he could feel Sam’s grin spread against the back of his neck. Seriously though… he had always thought Sam would be vanilla when it came to sex. He was actually 31 fucking flavors and beyond.

Before them was an endless sea of Sam and Dean. It was all the sex chaos in Sam’s head at once.

Dean’s eyes couldn’t stay focused on any pair, any multiples, too much to see, too many acts to witness. It was just hands, and mouths, and flesh. So many versions of both of them on their knees, dicks buried deep as tongues rolled around unable to taste enough. So many Sams writhing and crying out as multiple Dean’s fucked them at once. Dean spread out and impaled every which way on Sam. Facials to the extreme. A flurry of hands dripping with love. Orgasms, skin, cum, ecstasy, lust, love, blood, bliss, pleasure in all its forms and simply all the outrageous want of Sam for Dean all in one place. Sam had thought of Dean in every way he could. Wanted Dean until nothing was off limits, nothing was taboo. Cum was dripping off every part of Sam’s mind, until it was obscene.

Yes, it was _absolute_ carnal perversion and Sam. Did. Not. Give. A. Fuck.

“All the things I want to do to you, Dean, all the things I want to fucking do to you,” Sam was moaning into his ear. He was biting against his neck, kissing sucking licking, then pushed as hard as he could against Dean until their hands streaked up the glass and Dean was pressed flat out against it, Sam molding to his body from behind. “Want you.”

Dean’s breath fogged up the glass, still unable to take his eyes away, “Anything you want Sammy. I’m yours.”

Sam cried out, lost it completely, and he flipped Dean around fast and pushed him back against the glass so hard that he cracked it. His fingers gripped Dean’s hair, pulled his head back, as Dean repeated he was Sam’s, he was Sam’s, he was Sam’s, always and forever, he was Sam’s.

Sam kissed him so hard, pressed into him that the glass cracked and broke, and they fell backwards, out there, amongst all the Sams and Deans. They were caught by hundreds of hands at once, and Dean was instantly pulled and pushed, stroked and touched as he sunk into the chaos.

It was like Dean had pictured Heaven, nothing but Sam.

He was gazing up into the sky above as bodies closed in around him. It was a million rainbow colors of ecstasy with trillions of tiny green stars. Then it lit up with two green-blue-gold suns that cast a perfect light on everything. A second later the entire space fractured and bent, until it reminded Dean of an M.C. Escher painting, endless and ruleless. The Sams slid their own versions of Deans up the walls or began to float right there in the middle of the room. There was no up or down any more, no ceilings, no gravity, all rules went out the window in Sam’s head.

The two suns above were suddenly Sam’s eyes, like he was a giant, like he was God gazing down at his work.

And Sam said let there be Dean, and there was Dean. And Sam said let there be sex, and seriously, there was _a lot_ of sex. He said let me have dominion over every Dean, and it was so. And Sam saw everything that he had made, and, behold, it was very good.

Real Dean was nearing delirious with sensation but he still managed to laugh at his own joke.

Real Sam was there over Dean as all the other ghost-like hands continued to touch him everywhere they could, from all angles. Dean could tell his Sam from all the others, as he was the only reality amongst all the dreams. Still he floated down towards Dean from above like they were underwater, his hair waving out around him. Dean reached up a hand and Sam reached towards him.

Dean was suddenly pulled up from all the other dreams, pressed and held tight against Sam, floating in midair. The chorus of life muted around them. Everything but the prism of colors in the sky vanished. Until it was nothing but their love between the stars.

“I want you Dean, more then I can even show you, but I want it to be real, Dean, the first time you come for me, I want it to be real.” Sam was shivering, as if it took a physical toll for his lips not to be on Dean.

“But I am pretty sure I just want to live right here now,” Dean smiled.

“No you don’t,” Sam said in all seriousness. “This feels good while you are in here, but it’s like any other dream, it doesn’t compare to the way the real world feels. You’ll remember once you wake up,” Sam said. He grinned then and tilted his head down.

“Don’t you want to kiss me in the real world, Dean?” Sam purred against his lips.

“Wake me the hell up right now!”

 

 

_To Be Continued…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any requests I haven’t gotten to will be gotten to soon… I just, you know… had to save some fun for the real world *wink*
> 
> Ps- Yeah, this chapter took forever to get up, but there was a series of unfortunate events. A few chapters ago as I was typing away on this story my desk broke. I can’t even explain what happened, I was so caught up in writing, I didn’t notice until my keyboard slid to the floor and the whole thing fell over. This week, in the middle of writing out porny goodness, it was my computers turn. It went to jaggedy little lines and never recovered. Boy sex killed my computer! ha. Computer desk replaced, computer replaced, lets get this show on the road! …until on my way down the stairs to write more boy kink I stepped right down on to a random piece of glass, sliced my foot open and had to stay in bed and let it heal. Also my laptop isn’t working.  
> If the ceiling falls on my head or my computer chair snaps in half or I lose a finger, I’m just going to take the hint that the Gods don’t want me writing Wincest…


	14. Take my hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need you so, that I could die  
> I love you so and that is why  
> Whenever I want you  
> All I have to do is dream  
> Dream, dream, dream, dream
> 
> I can make you mine  
> Taste your lips of wine  
> Anytime night or day  
> Only trouble is, gee whiz  
> I'm dreamin' my life away…  
> -The Everly Brothers

Sammy.

The beloved name was echoing through Dean’s mind before his eyes were even open. He reached up a hand and pulled down the face before him. He wanted to kiss Sam the moment he fully woke. Being in the real world wasn’t like being in dreams, Sam was right about that. It was much more vivid, more real, and also… way the hell more awkward. Dean woke to the uncomfortable, wide-eyed gaze of Bobby looking down at him.

“Dean, whoever you’re dreaming of, I ain’t her.”

Dean released the back of Bobby's neck much to the older hunter’s relief.

“You fully with me now?” Bobby asked and patted him on the head when Dean nodded. “Good.” Then he turned over to Sam and began the chant to wake him.

Dean took a few deep breathes, really waking up and taking in where he was. They were in Bobby’s living room. He was laid out on a cot surrounded by blankets and pillows. There were stacks of books on lore sitting on the coffee table, he could see all the notes Sam had made, presumably about the Sandman. There was a bag hanging from a coat rack over him, running cold fluids into his arm. He stared up at the familiar devil's trap drawn on the ceiling.

Dean didn’t know what to do with himself now. He still wanted to kiss Sam, but they weren’t alone. Add that to the fact he hadn’t brushed his damn teeth in god knows how long, to the point he could actually taste his breath. He tried to sit up but groaned and lay back down. Good lord he was stiff and weak and…

Shit. Reality sucked.

Bobby finished the last line of the sleep breaking chant. Sam woke in the cot across from his, murmuring nonsense. His hair was all sleep disheveled and his face pillow creased when he finally sat up and looked around rubbing at his eyes like a giant kid woken from a nap.

A horrible thought suddenly hit Dean, what if it had all been a dream? What if Sam didn’t remember any of it? What if…

Sam’s eyes flashed over to Dean a split second later, and a smile spread out that lit up Dean’s whole world. He knew this vision was one of the best things he’d ever see in his entire life – the pure uncomplicated happiness on Sam’s face that shouted without words how much he loved Dean.

He took it back. Reality rocked.

Dean sat up. He suddenly had all this giddy energy as everything behind Sam’s smile began to run through his head. He felt like running wild and naked through the house and whooping at the top of his voice. Bobby clapping him on the back brought him back down to earth and he quickly diverted his eyes from Sam, knowing his body was totally going to betray him and give him away if he kept looking.

“It is good to see you both amongst the living again,” Bobby said, “thought we had lost ya, Dean.”

Dean nodded again, not sure what to say. Now that he was fully awake, he felt sort of like a jackass for some of the things he had done. It had made perfect sense in the dream to just stay dreaming.

He turned off the line to the fluids that were running into his arm, and slipped the needle out. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed with a groan. His back ached and popped as he moved, and his neck hurt. Sam was telling him to wait but Dean ignored him and got to his feet to stretch… and immediately found himself on the floor.

“What the hell?” Dean’s voice came out raw. Sam was there a second later hoisting him up by the waist and helped him to stay standing.

“I was walking fine a second ago,” Dean said looking down at his legs as if they had betrayed him. Sam shook his head, and Bobby gave a little muffled laugh.

“No, you were dreaming you were walking a second ago. You haven’t moved on your own in more than a week, Dean.”

“Right.” Dean felt so sore it might as well have been a year.

“You need to take it slow. If you sit down I’ll bring you…” Sam was saying, but nothing would keep Dean from a piss and a proper shower right that minute. He tried to take a step but his legs felt rubbery.

Sam huffed his disagreement, but supported most of Dean’s weight as he helped him make his way to the bathroom. Of course Dean would be a stubborn bastard and insist on using the upstairs shower, ‘better water pressure’. More like Dean never took being ill very well and always pushed himself too hard too fast. But Sam got his restitution for putting up with it. As they rounded the corner out of sight Sam let his hand drop just a little and pinched Dean’s butt.

Dean would have yelped in surprise at the feel of Sam’s fingers pinching him, and supposed it was good his throat was so dry hardly any noise came out. Sam never looked more content with the world.

Dean was already frustrated that his body wasn’t cooperating as fast as he’d like and when Sam refused to leave his side, even when they got there, it annoyed him.

“What? You wanna hold it for me?” Dean mocked in a rougher than normal voice when Sam still kept one hand on his lower back.

“Sure,” Sam shrugged unfazed and Dean stuttered for a minute.

“Quit being a weirdo. I mean, aren’t you the one normally bitchin’ at me about personal space?” Dean asked.

He had often purposefully left the bathroom door open while he took a whiz in their shared motel rooms in the past because Sam would yell how gross he was and Dean found it funny. But Dean hated feeling weak, and Sam refusing to let go made him feel pathetic.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Sam said.

“Your _face_ is ridiculous.” Dean threw the words back like a big four-year-old.

When Sam still didn’t budge Dean gave him a little shove. “I’m not ready for watersports, so get out.”

“I don’t want you to fall and crack your stubborn head open, okay?” Sam said. His usual exasperation was there but Dean heard the real fear lurking behind Sam’s words now.

“Come on Sam, I’m-”

“No, you come on Dean, cut me some slack.” He paused, knowing how he sounded, but unable to halt the worry that had already crept inside him. “I spent the last week unable to do anything but watch you sleep. If something happens to you now...” His eyes darted away from his brother. “Something this good just seems like it has to come with strings, ya know? So just, just…deal with it.”

This really wasn’t the way Dean wanted to wake up, fighting instead of kissing. “You know what?”

And Sam tensed.

“You’re right.”

Sam’s eyes shot back to Dean, studying his face.

“I’m serious. I shouldn’t have pulled any of that crap on you and I’m sorry. But I’m not going anywhere again. Promise. But if it gets your rocks off you can watch me take a leak.”

Sam laughed a little at that. Then his voice lightened up, “Not really my thing. Though I’m pretty sure I am owed a really fantastic blowjob for what you put me through.”

“Jeez, I thought the lack of filter was just in your head,” Dean said, so not flustered.

“A handjob?” Sam smirked. He liked making Dean all discombobulated, watching the dozen little expressions that crossed his face. “I’d settle for a kiss.”

Dean leaned over and gave him a quick kiss high on the cheek and Sam rolled his eyes but smiled.

“Now can I go with some privacy?”

“Sounds urgent. I should have held out for the blowjob.”

Dean elbowed him and Sam laughed.

“I should have just laid one on you with my dragon breath.”

Bad moods officially dissipated on both sides, though the worry on Sam’s end remained a little, so Dean humored him. Dean proved he could stay standing without his assistance and after a promise that he would land on his ass and not his head if he felt the need to fall over, Sam reluctantly left the room.

Dean finished and then washed his hands. His throat felt like a desert. He took a long slow drink out of the tap. Then he leaned up and looked himself over in the mirror. He saw why Sam was so worried. He looked pale, like the sandman had sucked some of his color out along with whatever brain chemicals he had managed to get before it was killed.

Sam opened the door again without knocking ten minutes later. He stayed standing in the doorway watching Dean brush his teeth. Watched him gargle. Dean took his sweet time.

“Man, I need a shave,” Dean said trying not to let Sam see that he was holding on to the sink for balance. He saw the reflection of Sam moving closer.

“Yeah, guess so,” Sam said watching as Dean turned his head side to side to stare at his scruff of beard.

“So, how are you feeling overall?” Sam asked. He had obviously spent his ten minutes alone worrying more.

“I’m fine,” Dean said, but they both know he’d say just that even if he were dying.

“Are you having trouble focusing? Do your legs feel numb? Some of the side effects of –”

“Sammy, really, I’m all right. That thing didn’t do any permanent damage, M’ just sore a bit, most of which is my own stupid fault.” He was more than a bit sore, he felt like a demon had run him over with an eighteen wheeler, but he wasn’t going to stress Sam about it.

“All right,” Sam said, both of them knowing it wouldn’t be the last time he asked.

“How about you?”

“Thing didn’t even touch me, I’m fine,” Sam replied. “And I took its head off for touching you.”

“My hero,” Dean grinned at Sam in the mirror. He didn’t get any other words out before Sam was right behind him.  
He wound his arms around Dean’s waist from behind and pulled him back against his body. It woke up every inch of Dean that had still been dreaming. Sam pressed his face into Dean’s neck and just held on to him for a minute, breathing into his skin. The intimacy in the waking world didn’t feel like it had in dreams, it was too damn real and it was making Dean’s empty stomach do backflips. He pulled himself out of the embrace. Sam let him go without a fuss, but watched him with curious eyes.

“So? You doing the honors?” Dean asked and lowered himself down to sit on the lid of the toilet, he scratched a finger over his facial hair.

Sam had shaved him a few times in the past while he was injured, but it hadn’t been like this. It had always been quick, efficient, with marine like precision.

Now Sam was running his fingers over the scruffy hair on Dean’s jaw and kept stroking it as he looked at him. His finger found the patch of skin on his chin that was still a bit pink where he had removed the stitches while Dean had been sleeping. He petted his fingers over that too. When he finally lathered Dean up, a naughty look and new fantasies were dancing behind Sam’s eyes.

“Now you are into sploshing? You are such a perv,” Dean said with a muffled snort.

Sam coughed, and stood up straight, a smile his only answer.

He set a towel on Dean’s shoulder then got serious as he brought the razor out. He concentrated as the blade slid over Dean’s skin. He wiped it on the towel between each stroke. He put one finger under Dean’s chin and tilted his head up. Dean swallowed and let out a little breath as the motion sent dirty thoughts running through his own head this time. All of Sam’s shared fantasies were still alive and dancing in his mind, one in particular of him on his knees, blindfolded, Sam tilting his head up... Sam smiled knowingly at him as he continued. Dean began to wonder if anything would ever _not_ be a turn on when it came to Sam again.

His hands made their way to Sam’s hips. His fingers encircled them and wove through his belt loops. Sam ran the razor under Dean’s chin, the slick scratch of blade against stubble the only sound in the silence between them. After a minute Dean let his hands roam higher, his fingers finding a path under Sam’s shirt.

The first touch of his fingertips on Sam’s bare skin was a thrill. He had never touched Sam like this before, openly with no pretense. There was no reason to be touching Sam other than he flat out wanted to and the sensation was like plugging into electricity, his body hummed with the open lust that touch created.

Dean stroked up Sam’s sides, his skin was warm and smoother than he expected. He touched Sam’s stomach, palm going flat over the firm muscled expanse and he all at once understood how people could develop an obsession over single body parts. The thumb of one hand roamed across his abs until it found his belly button. Sam didn’t say anything or stop shaving him, he just let Dean touch him. The slow slide of the razor was on his face as Dean pressed down inside that little dip, in and out. He watched Sam’s face as he continued to stroke that seemingly innocent hole. He circled it with the tip of his finger until he felt Sam’s stomach flutter. He pushed in again and finally broke Sam’s concentration completely. Sam paused, the razor held against his skin, his eyes locking with Dean’s. The air between them suddenly palpable.

Just as quickly as he had started Dean pulled his hands out from under Sam’s shirt and dropped them back into his lap.

Sam gave him a sullen look, but finished and toweled off Dean’s face and stood back to admire his work.

“I could probably use a haircut too,” Dean said running his hands through it. He had been meaning to get one for two weeks before all this happened.

“Nah, leave it longer for a while,” Sam said. Before Dean could ask why Sam put a hand into his hair and tugged. Dean’s eyes got big. Even bigger when Sam tugged his hair harder until he had to tilt his head back. Sam leaned in…

Dean shot to his feet and stumbled and Sam caught him, pressed against him.

“I need a shower,” he mumbled.

“Sponge bath?”

“Funny.”

He got into the tub with Sam’s help.

Sam stood there staring at his fully clothed brother standing in the shower, he was waiting to make sure Dean wasn’t going to fall or need him. All right, he was kind of hoping he would need him. He would be more than happy to help Dean take a shower.

“Out,” Dean barked at him suddenly.

Sam looked up at him a little startled, but then Dean’s face softened.

“Come on, Sammy. We are in Bobby’s house. As much as I want to touch you right now, as much as I am _dying to touch you_ right now…we can’t, not here. So I am trying my best to reel it in. Because if we start anything, I…won’t be able to stop,” Dean admitted bashfully.

“Oh,” Sam said looking a little relieved. “Good.”

“Good?”

“I thought maybe you were pulling back because, you know, you were changing your mind now that it was real and not dreams.”

Dean shook his head. “We really need to work on our communication.”

Sam was amused by that thought, Dean wanting to talk. “Yeah. Yeah, you are right. We shouldn’t do anything, not here.” His words may have been agreeing but he couldn’t hide the disappointment written all over his every molecule.

Despite his better judgment, he grabbed his brother by his shirt collar and pulled him in close until Sam was leaning over the edge of the tub. He wasn't about to disappoint his Sammy. Dean held him just barely away from his lips.

“Kiss me, Sam.”

Sam did not need to be told twice.

He pressed his mouth to Dean’s, a hand on each side of his face. All the kissing they had done under that spell, in those dreams, this blew all of it out of the water. This was their first real kiss.

Sam was right again, the real world was better, so much better, _so much fucking better_. It was all the difference between a wish and actually getting what you’ve always wanted. It was like fireworks and ice and all the unspoken words of more than a decade of suppressed passion being said all at once.

Sam stumbled up into the bathtub with him, holding Dean up, never breaking the kiss.

But seriously, this is where Dean excelled. He was not about to be out-kissed by his little brother. Their lips pressed together, fitting perfectly as if they had been made for just that purpose alone. Dean let his tongue sweep over every inch of Sam’s mouth, sucked on his tongue, rolled it with his own until Sam melted under Dean’s lips like sugar in hot coffee. He was kissing him until… _goddamn_ , Dean had always been sure that whole ‘getting weak in the knees’ thing was just a movie cliché not an actual thing that happened to people, but here was Sam, suddenly acting more wobbly than Dean, acting like he was about to be kissed right into falling on his ass. Dean grabbed on to Sam, held on to him and it made Sam moan into his mouth.

Dean finally broke the kiss then leaned his forehead against Sam’s. Sam’s thumbs were still stroking along his cheeks and he was mumbling out, “Yes, yes, yes.”

This is where they should stop, where a wise person would stop. But kissing was so much better than being rational. He pulled Sam in and kissed him again.

The second kiss was impossibly better. The kind that inspired poetry. The kind that made the moon rise and the stars shine. That made demons regain their humanity and angels, previously unable to cry, weep at its beauty.

It was the kind of kiss that God created the world for.

But Dean didn’t buy into any of that crap. This kiss was purely– _awesome._

Dean’s fingers ran up Sam’s stubbled jaw, felt the roughness and the rightness of it. He was sucking on Sam’s tongue, biting his lip, then kissing him deeply again, completely lost in it. Soft little moans were building up in Sam’s throat, Dean so desperate to do anything to make those sounds louder. They kissed until everything was so utterly fantasy-fulfilling on both sides that neither one of them was a hundred percent sure they had actually woken up.

“Seriously now, get out,” Dean said with a shaky laugh as he pulled away. Sam just stared at his lips for a minute, his own still parted and wet, he was spaced out like Dean’s words were coming from a distant planet and taking awhile to reach him. His eyes moved slowly up and met Dean’s. Then he smiled. Dean shook his head and smiled too. “Okay, one more, but then you seriously have to get out.”

Seven kisses and three buttons missing off of Sam’s shirt later and Dean summoned up every last bit of strength he had left then and pulled himself away from the all consuming force that was a kiss from Sam.

He had to give him a shove before Sam finally stepped back out of the tub.

Sam was breathing heavy, already looking sexed out without any actual sex. Dean closed the shower curtain in his face, knowing if he looked at him a second longer they were done for.

They both stood there a moment staring at opposite sides of the white shower curtain just breathing.

“Wow.” Sam finally said.

And Dean agreed, “Wow.”

“I think sex with you might actually kill me,” Sam said still staring at the shower curtain, only half joking. Dean laughed and leaned against the tiled wall.

Sam tried to smooth his hair, adjust his clothes. It didn’t help. He looked good and properly kissed. “Well, I’ll get out once you toss your clothes out here so I don’t have to worry about you falling, ya invalid.”

“You just want to get me naked.”

“I just want to-” Sam was saying but a shirt hit him in the face. A moment later the rest of Dean’s clothes were dumped out onto the floor. Sam heard the water start up, saw Dean’s fuzzy shadow silhouetted against the white curtain. His breathing hitched. A completely naked Dean inches away, in the shower.

“Sammy?” Dean questioned then chuckled, “You really do have a fetish don’t you?”

Sam blushed and bolted from the bathroom.

Dean knew he’d probably get it later for that one, but he laughed, teasing his Sammy was always worth it. He stood just long enough to soap up and rinse the funk off, before letting the tub fill up around his feet. He sank down into a warm bath. He certainly was worn out for a guy that had been sleeping for days. He replayed those first kisses over and over in his mind. Then thought about all the ones to come.

***

Sam had laid out his softest warmest flannel PJ bottoms and his favorite worn-in, grey sleep shirt. Dean dressed slow, still stiff, but happy nonetheless.

Sam gave him a frown when he saw that he had come all the way down without any help, but Dean just ignored the sourpuss look.

Sam had gotten them a feast and had laid it out on the coffee table so he could sit on the soft couch rather than the hard kitchen chairs. Burgers and French fries and not a vegetable in sight, and there was even pie! A shameful amount of pie actually. Sam must have cleaned the place out. There was a slice of cherry, apple, peach, key lime, chocolate cream, lemon meringue and banana cream, enough to be an entire pie orgy.

“You guys remembered the pie, you do care.” Dean said.

They talked a bit about what had happened, and they had to put some half truths out there. But Bobby didn’t push for details and they were glad for that. “You boys just remember this the next time you go charging in on a case halfcocked!” was his only admonishment.

Dean ate his fill, trying his best not to look too often at Sam so that Bobby couldn’t read his feelings flashing like a big neon sign on his face. WANT – WANT – WANT.

As for Sam, he was thrilled to watch Dean eat. Ever since Dean had come back from his fight with John, for weeks, he had barely been eating. He ate like nothing had flavor, made no complaint when Sam set a salad in front of him instead of a burger. Then he had to watch him get ever thinner over the time he spent in dreamland. Any longer and they would have had no choice but to take him to a hospital. Now Dean practically made love to the cherry pie, groaning and licking the spoon, and snaking the piece of apple pie from Sam’s hands. That was the Dean he loved.

Dean suddenly shot Sam a look, just a quick blink and missed it reaction as he licked his tongue over his apple pie covered… spoon. Sam suddenly hopped up and claimed he needed another beer. Dean smirked to himself as he ate the apple pie with a few overly enthusiastic groans that kept Sam in the kitchen for quite some time, trying to let the hard line pressing against his jeans die down.

Sam punched Dean in the arm when he came back out. Bobby assumed there was some joke going on between them, and judging from the Cheshire cat grin on Dean’s face, he didn’t even want to know. Bobby grabbed up the peach pie before Dean could get his spoon in it.

After half a burger and far too much pie consumed Dean leaned back and patted his tummy happily.

Then he started gathering up the dishes.

“What’re you doing?” Bobby asked after a minute of watching him.

“Uh, was going to wash the dishes.”

Bobby took all the plates out of Dean’s hands, shaking his head. The boy hadn’t been awake more than a few hours and he was gonna ‘wash the dishes’.

“If you don’t sit down and let someone take care of you for once, I’m gonna wallop you.”

Dean sat back down.

“I mean it, your butt is to be parked on this couch resting and recovering for the next two weeks. Don’t be cleaning, or helpin’ in any way,” Bobby said it stern, but it was clear all the affection in the world was underneath.

After Bobby and Sam took care of the clean up, and wrapped up all the rest of the leftover pie, they all sat around on the couch talking. It was calming listening to Bobby and Sam talk sports and spells. Dean’s head finally began to tiredly nod. Sam nudged him. “Go to bed, Dean.”

A quick goodnight arm thump to them both then and he trudged his way to Bobby’s spare room. He crashed onto the bed. Sleep should be the last thing he needed, but besides Sam, it was the only thing his body craved at the moment, a real natural goodnights sleep. At least four hours. He was emotionally wrung out, physically wrung out. Being back in the real world was like coming back from the moon, the gravity of real life was going to take some readjusting to.

He rolled on his side, closed his eyes and thought about Sam.

Sleep must have overtaken him at some point, as he dreamt of a sandstorm, but he woke when he felt the bed sag with weight next to him. He opened one eye and saw Sam leaning over him to turn off the lamp on the bedside table. He pushed Dean a little and rolled into the bed behind him, his chest against Dean’s back, nearly lying on top of him, as there was hardly enough room for one overgrown Winchester let alone two in the small spare bed. His warmth radiated right into Dean’s skin until the words “cozy” and “happy” kept repeating themselves in his mind.

“Bobby?” Dean managed to mutter, trying to make the question clear with just his tone.

“He went to bed already, don’t worry, I won’t fall asleep, I just… wanted to be here for a little bit. I’ll be back out on the couch before it is light out.”

Sam yawned then, and rolled further into Dean’s back, a big hand coming to rest on his shoulder. It wasn’t quite a cuddle, just closeness.

Sam made no demands of him, put no conditions or time limits on his affection. Dean couldn’t even remember the last time he was in someone’s bed where it wasn’t ‘perform or get out’. He had certainly never been in bed with someone who knew him completely, and still wanted him to be there.

Though he’d never admit it aloud, he knew he was starved for the touch of someone who cared for him. Not those groping, pulling hands of a lover for the night, those drags of fingers that left him colder when it was over and constantly seeking another touch to feel warm again. But an honest to god contact of someone that would give a damn about him a week from now. Of course he didn’t want it from just anyone who cared either. He could have perhaps found that in the beds of women like Jo, or other hunters that understood the life. No, he wanted that contact from Sam.

It had gotten to the point where he almost liked getting injured because it meant Sam would usually help him, put his hands on him and sew him back together. He had caught himself at one point on a hunt looking down as blood gushed from a wound on his chest, and all he thought about was if it was bad enough, if it had bled enough...enough to make Sam hug him. And hoping that it had. Having Sam touch him now just because he wanted to touch him - it was almost too intense.

Sam pulled him in just a bit closer then, let his fingers drop until they were on his chest. He let out a contented sigh in Dean’s ear.

When he and Sam were very young Dean use to cuddle him close all the time. Sam probably didn’t remember, at least not consciously, Dean sleeping in his crib for months after their mother died, wound around him, wanting to keep him safe. For years afterwards, he found any reason to crawl into bed and hold Sam, as that is the only time Dean ever really felt like the world made any kind of sense, the only time he’d sleep soundly. Years later when no motel could be found and they had to crash in the Impala together, Dean would always find a way to get at least a pinky up against Sam. And he’d sleep better than even the best motel bed could have offered.

The thought drifted through his mind then that perhaps he should argue, as this could be dangerous. What if Sam fell asleep? But Dean was so tired and Sam’s warm breath against his neck felt so relaxing. A peace settled deep into his bones. He was asleep before he could manage another thought.

Sam lay there listening to Dean drift off to sleep. He remembered all the nights Dean held him close as kids, and all the nights Sam wanted to hold him just like this ever since. His face hurt from smiling.

Dean woke the next morning feeling great. He rolled over to see that Sam, true to his word, had made it back on the couch before anyone else had cracked open an eye. He yawned and stretched. It was the first goodnight sleep he had had in years. A glance at the clock told him he had gotten a full ten glorious hours. Even better, he woke to something smelling hella good. It smelled like…

Bacon! Sizzling frying strips of happiness. Underneath that there was coffee and a hint of battery sweetness to the air. Pancakes! If there was butter, real maple syrup… fuck it, he was so going to kiss Sam right on the mouth and blow their cover.

He rolled out of bed. Yes, it was good to be alive.

***

Bobby heard the sound of an engine grumbling up the drive then cutting off. He knew who it was without a doubt.

It had been a happy two days with Dean gaining his health back, looking more well rested then Bobby could remember ever seeing him. The boys were already back to banterin’ and bickerin’. The two of them were oblivious to the sound of the approaching vehicle as they headed into the kitchen to make popcorn, fussing over what movie they were gonna watch. Bobby quietly grabbed up his shotgun and slipped open the front door. A breeze swirled sand around his boots as he stomped wearily over the porch and down the front drive.

John Winchester got out of his truck, his normally handsome features now looked rather grizzled. He walked towards Bobby, until he saw the gun.

 

 

To Be Continued...  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No bad luck to report this week thank Cas! The gods have decided not to smite me. So I’m going to randomly ramble about other things, feel free not to read any of this…  
> I turned 21 in the hospital, it totally sucked. At least the nurses were hot, ha. I kept slapping my arm and telling them to hook up the tequila IV right there. No one seemed to find that funny, me almost dead and all, but I was kinda loopy at the time from blood loss so I found it hilarious. A week in I did finally spring out of bed demanding a shower and fell right on my ass. And was all, _legs, how could you betray me?!_ So yeah, that was a personal story interwoven in there.  
>  Alas, I did not have a gorgeous guy helping me to the bathroom and asking for blowjobs. I did talk the hot lady nurse into a sponge bath. It is not as erotic as your imagination would lead you to believe. But then both me and Dean do confuse porn with reality ;)  
> Anyway, long story short, when you wake up after a week in bed you are sore. Really really sore and wobbly. Sorry if this chapter bored you. I know some are just yelling for KINKY BOY SEX NOW ALREADY… but me, yeah, what can I say? I like the realistic and the painfully slow tease. I promise you cum in the next chapter. ha.


	15. Sleep With One Eye Open

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A candy-colored clown they call the sandman  
> Tiptoes to my room every night  
> Just to sprinkle stardust and to whisper  
> "Go to sleep. Everything is all right."
> 
> I close my eyes, Then I drift away  
> Into the magic night. I softly say  
> A silent prayer like dreamers do.  
> Then I fall asleep to dream my dreams of you.
> 
> -Roy Orbison

John halted a few yards off when he saw Bobby coming towards him from the house with shotgun in hand. The shadows were long and the day hot around them as the sun made its slow way to setting. The ticking of the truck engine cooling was the only sound between the two hunters for a moment as they sized up each other’s intentions.

“I need to talk to my boys, Bobby. I know they are here,” John said, his arms going out to his sides, palms up to show he had no weapons.

John looked worn, like the tread on tires that had crossed the country one too many times. His face had three days worth of stubble and dark circles ringing his eyes. Tired wasn’t enough word for it, he could have been mistaken for a fresh corpse.

“I’m not sure they need to be talking to you right now,” Bobby said.

“I’m their dad, not you. I make that call.”

“Yeah, I know I ain't their dad, John. You remind me of that a lot whenever it is you that ain’t acting like a father,” Bobby said, but then lowered his voice so Dean and Sam wouldn’t overhear the commotion.

Bobby knew there was only a few things in all of life that could ever knock Dean as low as he had seen him. Sam was right by his side so that crossed that off the list. But every time he mentioned John over the last few days Dean turned jumpy like a frog on a highway in the middle of rush-hour.

“I seen Dean’s wounds. Now he ain’t said nothing about it, but I’m not a fool. I got an identical one on my chin last time me and you had it out.”

“Yeah, but you don’t know–” John began but Bobby cut him off.

“I don’t care. You understand? You keep your damn excuses to yourself. All I know is that you are the reason we almost lost Dean right now. Hell, we would have lost them both to this. So I’m not about to let you come in and stir up trouble when the boy is hardly well enough to walk.”

John took a step forward, his eyes going to the house. Bobby motioned towards the gun in his hand. “I almost blasted you with buckshot once before. You should know that my aim has improved since then.”

John’s face hardened at those words, and he stalked towards the house, past Bobby.

“Well, you won’t be the first thing I’ve killed on this property.” Bobby pumped a shell into the chamber and took aim.

John stopped a few feet off from the front door, his back to the gun. He knew Bobby well enough to know the man rarely made idle threats. Even if that gun was packing salt rounds it wasn’t going to feel good. He turned around to face him, stalemate, waiting.

Bobby sighed. “You ever notice when our boys are hurtin’, they come here? When they need help, or their asses pulled outta the fire, it is me they call? Family don't end with blood, and sometimes blood, it don’t make ya family, John. You have worn your connection real thin, I’d say. You need to cool off. They need some time.”

“I know I haven’t always done the right things, I know it,” John said defensively, his fists balled up at his sides.

“If you are trying to win understatement of the year, you got my vote.”

“I’m doing my best here, Bobby! This time it is different. They need to know what is coming.” He took a long look around the salvage yard, paying special attention to the shadows. A knee high dust devil was getting kicked up by the wind, otherwise the yard was quiet. “There isn’t time for any of this. They have to be prepared. They can’t give up this fight.”

“This fight,” Bobby sneered, his face going red with anger. “You ever read Moby Dick? You are chasing after your white whale with yellow eyes and you are gonna damn yourself and everything you love and have left in this world right to hell for it.”

“This isn’t about that and you know it, Dean deserved what I gave him!” John said in a sudden snap of anger.

Bobby walked forward and shoved the end of the gun against John’s chest. “You son of a bitch. Don’t you get it? You’re so worried about something from the dark getting em, that you almost killed em yourself right now!” He advanced, making John back up. “Dean tried to go to sleep and not wake up. Are you listening? The kid wanted to die. If Sam hadn’t risked himself…I mean really risked himself now, that would have been it.”

John’s face went white. “I was protecting them.”

“Has ‘protecting them’ with your fists really been working out for you? If you keep pushing the way you are, you'll lose ‘em forever. Hell, the look on Sam’s face the last few days when even the slightest mention of you comes up, I gotta say I think he is already lost to you. And Dean? Jesus, that boy is so broken, John.” Bobby pushed the end of the gun harder into John’s chest, hard enough to bruise. “You lay another finger on him and I swear...” Bobby thought of the other body buried behind the woodshed.

John scrubbed a hand over his worn face. Then he stared down at the gun on his chest. He hung his head, “I don’t know what to do any more.” Then the tears came.

Bobby softened a little. He lowered the gun to his side then he took off his hat and rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead wiping away the sweat. He put his hat back on and waited another minute for John to get a hold of himself. Tears weren’t gonna change his mind on what was best for everyone.

“I love them.”

“I know you love ‘em. So go on. Get back in your truck. Go dry out. Do the right thing for once.” Bobby said. “If you’re lucky maybe _they_ will call _you_.”

***

Bobby ducked back into the house, setting the gun back down. The boys came out of the kitchen, still joking and teasing one another a moment later.

“Who was it?” Dean asked, not as oblivious as Bobby thought.

“Just someone lost and looking for directions,” Bobby stretched the truth. “Gonna grab us some beers.”

John Winchester is a formidable beast. That was like talking a charging bull down while wearing a great big red sheet tied around his neck. Bobby needed a minute to calm himself. He stood in the kitchen for a few, gathering his thoughts.

He knew the stubborn SOB wasn’t one to be stopped so easily, or to wise up so quick, and it wasn’t going to be pretty on either side when it all finally hit the fan. At least Dean might be feeling better by the time that rolled around. The worry was giving Bobby a headache.

“You microbrewing in there, or what? Come on – we got a lot of Chuck Norris to get through. Let's go,” Dean called to him.

Bobby just smiled and brought in the beers and watched his boys. They teased each other back and forth, about licorice and peanut butter and banana sandwiches and all the other nonsense that always makes up the very best moments of life.

“Yeah, chewy pieces of heaven if you're a girl.”

“I’m a girl, am I?” Dean stuck a finger right into Sam’s ribs until he was the one that let out a girlish cry. Sam smacked at his hand then tossed more popcorn at him.

Dean cleared his throat, looking over at Bobby. “You are on my side right? Chuck Norris marathon?”

Bobby nodded. He pulled up the plastic bag that was sitting by the side of his chair with his own movie snacks in it. He tossed a box of Good & Plenty at Dean.

“Licorice!” Dean slapped him on the knee, “My man.”

He hit play with the remote, and passed Bobby the popcorn.

Bobby settled in and smiled. Yeah, he may not be their father, but he is the one here right now. He is the one who gets to see them happy. And that was good enough for him.

***

Dean couldn’t believe how sore he still was. He made his way out to the kitchen and sat down at the table. He’d been battered around by a lot of monsters in his life, so he shouldn’t have been surprised by the effects of what getting fed on by a Sandman was like. But it was his third day back up on his feet, and he still felt like a good breeze could knock him over.

Sam fussed over him though, which to Dean’s surprise he rather enjoyed. Sam made him food, covered him with blankets when he was on the couch, and in general just gave him a lot of attention.

Dean watched Sam leaning over the kitchen table, rooting around through the medicine bottles that were stored on a little turntable there. Dean thought about reaching out a hand and slapping Sam’s ass, really had to fight the urge not to.

Dean had said they weren’t going to mess around while they were in Bobby’s house, and really, he had meant it. First of all, he didn’t want to get caught, because that was a conversation he was nowhere near ready to broach, in fact it was one he never wanted to talk about. Second of all, he didn’t want to be disrespectful to Bobby. Sam’s ass wiggled like he had a damn tail when he found one of the bottles he was looking for, and Dean really, _really_ had to fight the urge to lay a good smack on it.

He had done well the second day…for the first half of it anyway. Bobby had gone outside, and they had headed into the kitchen to make popcorn. Just being alone with Sam for five minutes had made his willpower crack. Sam had pulled him in and kissed him and Dean didn’t stop him. Dean couldn’t understand how every kiss kept getting better than the last, like there was no limit to how good they could feel. He kissed him until he heard the front door open again. Then Dean, rather wild eyed, grabbed the popcorn from the microwave, dumped it into a bowl and headed back out into the living room. They had watched an endless stream of Chuck Norris but all Dean could think about was Sam.

Dean watched as his brother opened a few more of the bottles and shook pills out into his hands. Then Dean’s thoughts shifted to worrying about his father showing up. But for once, he didn’t have to shoulder the worry by himself, he had someone to openly talk to about it. That change alone in his life was rather amazing. Sam made him feel better, said if John was going to show up he probably would have done it by now. They made contingency plans just in case, but they had each other’s back and that made Dean feel more confident. If they stood as a united front then they could probably take on heaven and hell…and maybe even John Winchester.

He tried to relax. And Sam sure was one heck of a good distraction! Every time he looked up and saw Sam looking right back at him, blood raced straight south. He felt like he was a freaking kid again, walking around with random wood springing up on him all day. He had struggled with his want of Sam since before forever, but this was different, Sam wanted him back and that was the hottest damn thing there ever was. It was like streaming 24 hour non-stop porn straight into his brain. Ultimate hot fantasy Sammy porn at that, live and in the flesh.

He shook his head as if trying to pull himself out of daydreams. “This smells like butt,” Dean said, wrinkling up his nose at the pills Sam had placed in his open palm.

“The white one is gelsemium, Siberian ginseng, and arnica Montana to help heal your mind, the small yellow one is L-theanine, which is the compound responsible for increasing dopamine. Then to help with energy levels and relaxation you have maca, passion flower, and–” Sam was explaining until Dean cut him off.

“I love it when you talk nerdy to me,” Dean said.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s holistic and good for you, so just take them.” Sam set a glass of water on the kitchen table. But Dean made no move to comply.

“I’ll make you lunch, a sandwich, chips, juice,” Sam bargained.

“Make that sandwiches, I want two, and a few beers. And pudding. Then you got yourself a deal,” Dean said. Sam bent over to get items out of the drawers at the bottom of the fridge and Dean openly admired the view again.

“I’ll make you as many sandwiches as you want and you can have one beer. Alcohol isn’t good when you are trying to heal,” Sam countered.

“All right, but none of that alfalfa sprout crap on mine.” Dean swallowed the pills down and pulled a face.

“Fine, but then you are gonna eat a salad with dinner.” He walked back to the counter.

“Salad? Exactly how long have you known me? Oh, is this the first time we have met?” Dean teased. He got up and moved across the kitchen.

Sam was busy setting out slices of bread and running mayo over them with a butter knife. He turned around to argue the merits of salad and was met with Dean standing directly behind him with a look on his face that made Sam’s heart knock against his ribs.

“Hi, name is Dean. What’s your name, beautiful? And how come I haven’t seen you around here before?” he said the cheesy pickup line, but somehow it just worked for him.

Sam had seen Dean turn the charm on, had seen it work on countless people when they were on cases or in bars, but he had never had it directed at him before. Sam never had Dean look at him like _that_. He had all the swagger that said he had already fucked Sam and he liked it, and wouldn’t Sam like to be let in on the secret? Sam officially saw why panties dropped and witnesses melted. Puppy dog eyes had nothing on Dean Winchester in full on flirt mode.

Sam did his best to roll his eyes, but the smile lighting up his face said otherwise. “Fine, I’ll make you pudding. But you are still eating a salad later.”

“Playing hard to get, it’s okay, I like that,” Dean crooned. He dragged his eyes up and down Sam a minute and then licked his lips. “What do I have to do to get you to tell me your name, pretty?”

“Samuel,” Sam said then laughed at himself for playing along.

“Samuel? Nah, definitely a Sammy,” Dean said, “Yeah. Sammy.” The way Dean said his name, curled his mouth around it while he leaned in closer, sent little tingling shockwaves through Sam.

He leaned on the counter, one hand on either side of Sam, invading his space, taking up all the air it seemed, as Sam was having trouble catching his breath. “You are the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, Sammy. I think I’m going to take you home with me tonight.”

He was already getting hard from the effects of being the object of Dean’s undivided attention. When he asked him if he’d like that, Sam nodded, he couldn’t help it.

Dean pushed Sam to the counter with his lower half firmly pressing into him, his knee slipping between Sam’s legs. Sam let out a little gaspy breath, and put his hands on Dean’s shoulders. He dropped the butter knife he had been holding and it hit the floor behind them with a clang. Dean leaned in close and began to whisper.

“When I'm around you I can't think… _straight_ ,” And then Dean pulled away and laughed. Head tossed back, highly amused with himself and his bad joke. And just like that he was simply Dean again.

“You are such a jerk,” Sam said flustered, trying to turn back around, but Dean pushed a hand into him and kept him in place.

“Yeah, well that is what you get for bitching at me about salad.” Dean’s laughter subsided and his eyes went back to Sam.

Dean didn’t move away then like Sam had expected him too, instead he held his gaze for a long minute. He moved in even closer, one of his hands moving to Sam’s back, pulling him in tight. There was something else in his expression now. He reached up his other hand and touched Sam’s face. His eyes still had all the fire, but now it burned even hotter. No, this wasn’t Dean in full on flirt mode now… this look was Dean in love. In absolute love with Sam.

Dean leaned in and kissed him. Soft and gentle and perfect. Sam closed his eyes, lost in a delicious sensory overload that seemed to happen every time their lips met. Dean’s mouth was warm, his tongue warmer as it slipped in. Sam’s brain shut down for a second, unable to understand how Dean could say I love you without words, but that is exactly what this kiss felt like. He wrapped himself around Dean and kissed him deeper.

Dean broke the kiss almost looking a little shy. He glanced around the kitchen, as if he suddenly remembered where they were. He snaked a piece of lunchmeat from the package next to Sam, tossed the knife from the floor into the sink, and sat back down at the table.

Sam turned his attention back to the sandwiches, trying to ignore the throbbing want in himself. He cleared his throat and got another knife out of the drawer. “Want the crusts cut off?”

That was an _I love you too_ if Dean ever heard one. He smiled down at the table. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

***

If his want of Sam during the day wasn’t bad enough, Sam snuck into his bed every night after that first night. Both of them had an unspoken understanding it was just to sleep, not even kissing, but just having him close made Dean’s body go haywire. He felt hard as steel and quivery as jello all at once whenever Sam pushed down onto the bed and rolled into him in the dark.

Surprisingly, they spent a lot of hours of those nights talking. In the past, any conversations between them not about the hunt usually involved empty liquor bottles or something smashed and broken: TVs, tables, a fist or a nose, whatever was there that hurt less than the words. Yeah, Dean had always hated talking. Spent most of his life trying to avoid it. That was because the more he talked the more the chance that he’d let something slip out about his feelings for Sam. So he just shut up most of the time, it was easier that way.

It was weird not to have that fear any more.

Talking openly was like a constant itch he had never allowed himself to scratch. So, maybe it wasn’t sex, but who knew just talking could be so deeply satisfying?

“…Wait, are you saying you planted those panties, just so she would find them? Man, she called me up screaming like a banshee. You are such a brat!” Dean said about one of Sam’s little revelations.

Sam grinned boyishly, “I’m…sorta sorry.”

Dean thrust an arm out behind him and elbowed his brother’s side, and Sam let out a little laugh against his ear. They were laying in the dark in the small bed, Dean facing the wall, Sam behind him. After a minute Sam shifted, moving closer. The days were hot but the nights were still cold, and the warmth between them felt good. Dean still insisted they not do anything in Bobby’s house, but when Sam placed a hand down gently on his side, he let it pass.

“While I’m uh, confessing things…you know your favorite Led Zep shirt that went missing two months ago?” Sam asked.

“Yeah?”

“It’s, um, at the bottom of my duffle bag.” There was a long pause of silence, and it seemed like Sam was happy not to continue.

“Okay. Gonna tell me why?”

“I uh, um.” Sam’s voice got really quiet, “I accidentally fucked a hole through it.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up, highly entertained. Sam couldn’t see his face in the dark bedroom.

“You’re mad.”

Dean laughed. “Not mad, cockzilla, I’m just suddenly concerned about my ass.”

“Shuddup,” Sam grinned, it was his turn to elbow Dean.

“Seriously, how the hell do you… I can’t even. I think you are gonna have to show me how that is even possible someday soon.”

“I’ll give you a free demonstration right now if you like?” Sam grinned. He rubbed his fingers in little circled along Dean’s side.

The unspoken _Not in Bobby’s house_ was between them and Dean could practically feel Sam rolling his eyes.

“Anyway, it’s your own fault. You were watching porn like five feet from me, like I don’t know what you’re up to on my laptop.”

Dean was going to deny it but then he chuckled, “Yeah okay, I probably was.”

“And then!” Sam said exasperated, “You totally started rubbing your dick through your jeans, right in front of me.”

“Did _not_ ,” Dean said sounding scandalized.

“The hole in your Zeppelin shirt says otherwise.”

Dean stiffened up a little at the thought of Sam wanting him like that, let the image of Sam so turned on he ripped a hole clean through his shirt filter through his mind. “Where was I while you were disgracing my shirt?”

“Where you always are after you defile my laptop.”

There was a comfortable silence between them then. The glowing red numbers on the clock on the nightstand said it was one in the morning. Sam slowly inched his fingers down Dean’s side, brushing the elastic band at the top of his sleep shorts.

“When we were in your head, and I was saying crap– which I’m sorry for by the way.” Dean said before Sam could start. “When it started raining and you zapped us over to that building with the pillars…was that…did you snap us to a scene of a chick-flick?

Sam was quiet.

“I knew it! Dude, you made me the girl! Out of the two of us, I am totally Mr. Darcy.”

Sam was amused not only that Dean had seen the movie Pride and Prejudice, but he had obviously seen it enough to recognized the place and know the characters by name. “Whatever. I was confessing my love to you, and you were rejecting me over and over. That makes you Elizabeth.”

“I don’t like being the chick. Don’t be making me the chick in those girly fantasies in your head.” Dean huffed and awkwardly folded his arms across his chest as he was laying on his side in the bed.

Sam groaned. “You need to get over this whole chick-dude-homophobic thing. I’m just Sam. You’re just Dean. Don’t label things and make it awkward for yourself, because I plan to fuck you every way I want regardless. And I will stick you in any fantasy I like too. If I want to think about you riding my dick wearing a pair of pink lace panties, I will. So get over it Eliza-Dean.”

Dean seriously liked the idea of Sam all rough and in charge and making him do all sorts of dirty things. “Okay,” he mumbled.

“Sam…”

“Hmm?”

“I’m pretty sure Mr. Darcy didn’t slowly try to stick his hand down Elizabeth’s pants while they were talking.”

Sam chuckled, “That part was in the book…”

Talking now, even about the small stuff was like a healing, a cleansing between them. Dean felt like he talked more in those few nights than he had in most the rest of his life. They spilled all sorts of secrets to each other, they laughed like they hadn’t in years. It was nice, talking like that, talking like they had a future.

The night ended with their conversation slowing until Sam was just quietly murmuring, his body up against his brother’s as much as he could get it, with at least one finger tucked somewhere under Dean’s clothes, both drifting off to meet again in dreams.

***

Every morning made Dean’s conviction that they shouldn’t touch yet a little less sturdy. Especially as he began to wake up with Sam’s good-morning-wood pressed up against his own very-excited-about-it body before Sam inevitably left to return to the couch. Not to mention Sam got slightly more handsy every night.

Both he and Sam needed time to recuperate though, he was just starting to feel like the living again. Not to mention Dean didn’t want to raise suspicions. They would need to give Bobby a good enough excuse as to why they were going so soon without a new case. Leaving the free rent and comfort of Bobby’s only to head to a motel for no reason while Dean was still not a hundred percent would be odd. And, while his body was screaming, _now now now you fool now_ , he just… he needed a few more days.

At least that is what he kept telling himself anyway...

While he seemed to be suffering on that fifth day in, Sam almost seemed to be enjoying it, taking any opportunity he could to tease Dean mercilessly.

Okay, maybe some of it wasn’t intentional, like when he’d stand and stretch like an overgrown cat, his arms in the air above his head, letting his shirt ride up his body until he looked like a goddamned playgirl centerfold, and all Dean could think about was licking him from end to end. And maybe when Sam later that night proceeded to dip his finger onto his plate of pasta and bring it back up to his lips, and slowly, _oh god_ , so slowly, lick the alfredo sauce off of it, rubbing the thick white cream all over the pink tip of his tongue, until Dean was so distracted he did totally eat a salad that night without even noticing, _just maybe_ it wasn't to tease Dean either. But when Sam spilled his beer and got down on his hands and knees on the floor to clean it up, his perfect ass in the air only inches away from Dean’s begging dick. Well now he was just being cruel.

Well two can play that game Sammy...

Sam was talking to Bobby when Dean made his way into the kitchen later that night. Sam didn’t notice what he was up to at first, as Dean kept his back to him and poured himself a drink out of the fridge.

Sam’s jaw just about hit the table when Dean turned around.

Dean walked over, smirking. He was wearing the Led Zeppelin shirt he had dug out of Sam’s bag, complete with hole ripped through it. The rip lay right across his stomach, and his skin peeked through. Bobby and Sam had been talking about a case Rufus was on, and Sam turned his eyes back to Bobby completely flustered, trying to nod and keep up his end of the conversation.

“Ya got a rip in your shirt,” Bobby said looking over at Dean. Sam looked like he was about to die which was kind of painfully cute, and Dean couldn’t help himself then.

“Yeah, not sure how that could have happened,” He said, and put his fingers in and out of the hole a few times. “But it is my favorite shirt. I think I’ll wear it until it is,” He looked up at Sam, “full of holes.”

Sam’s eyes got comedically big and Bobby just shrugged. Bobby talked on for awhile, and Dean leaned against the counter, fingering the hole in the shirt every once in awhile. Sam scooted his chair and himself further under the kitchen table, trying to hide the effect it was having on him. Eventually Bobby got up to get a book so he and Sam could continue their discussion.

The moment Bobby was out of the room Sam grabbed Dean’s wrist and tugged him down. “All right. Just remember you started it.”

Let the sexy prank wars begin!

After that there were more than a few teasing episodes back and forth between them. Several of which left Dean jerking off in the bathroom until his arm ached.

It was just like the times they use to prank each other as kids, everything slowly escalating. Except this was way more fun than Nair in a shampoo bottle. Dean knew they needed to stop, but god, he was having too much fun.

Sam was back with a vengeance the next day in the form of a popsicle. He sat down at the kitchen table, working the bright red cherry treat it in an out of his mouth damn near obscenely, but was looking at his laptop acting like he hadn’t noticed Dean there at all.

Dean was glad Bobby wasn’t in the room with them, as that was pretty obvious, or maybe it was just his filthy mind, he couldn’t tell any more. He sat back down across from Sam and just enjoyed the show. He didn’t think it would get to him, and it didn’t, not until Sam began to swirl his tongue around the tip of it, not until he locked eyes with Dean and kept swirling his tongue around it. Dean shifted in his chair.

“Want a lick?” Sam asked.

A thin line of saliva trailed from his lips to the end of the treat and god yes Dean wanted to lick those cherry stained lips, or better yet he just wanted to be that damn popsicle pumping into Sam’s sweet red mouth. He was so turned on he couldn’t even manage a headshake, so Sam took his silence as a yes.

Sam walked around the table. He kicked Dean’s shoes until he splayed open his legs letting Sam stand in between them. Sam just stood over him, leaning forward, hair falling into his face, looking him over. He kept it up until the popsicle was melting and Dean’s pulse was racing. Dean gripped the sides of the chair.

Sam slid the popsicle against Dean’s lips, and with their eyes still locked, began tracing them for a moment. “Open wider,” he said with a breathy voice, and Dean complied without another thought. Sam tipped it past his lips and ran the sticky sweetness over his tongue, moving it in and out of Dean’s mouth.

“Wrap your lips around it, Dean,” Sam said, “I want you to taste it.” He watched Dean for another minute with a little dirty smile.

“You’d let me do this to you, wouldn’t you? Stand over you and put whatever I wanted in your mouth,” Sam said, suddenly not talking about popsicles at all.

Dean closed his eyes and let out a little moan as Sam pushed it further in his mouth. He was pretty sure he could count his heartbeat by the throbbing in his dick.

“You are going to look just like this when you are sucking my cock,” Sam said. “Yeah, just like this when I fill your mouth full of my come.” He pulled the popsicle all the way out then commanded, “Now swallow.”

That almost did Dean in when so much blood rushed from his head to his lower regions he thought he might, in fact, die.

Sam picked up his laptop and put what was left of the popsicle back in his own mouth, sucking it as he left the kitchen.

Dean was flustered when he eventually made it back out to the living room. Sam sat on the couch grinning up at him. He couldn’t even think of retaliation, or… _shit, this really needed to stop now, it was getting way out of hand_. But there just wasn’t enough blood left in his upstairs brain to think at the moment. His hand kept drifting to his dick of its own accord. All Dean really knew is he’d never be able to see a popsicle again without getting hard.

And apparently Sam knew that too, because whenever Dean was in the room with Bobby, or even the other hunters that stopped by that day to pick up a curse box, Sam was there, standing behind the group, lips wrapped around another popsicle, licking it suggestively until Dean had to excuse himself from the conversation or risk making it awkward for all.

The day finally wound down, and Sam abandoned his popsicle games, assuming he had won. He had settled on the couch and was watching some old documentary after the other hunters had left and Bobby had went to his den to research a case. Dean had no interest in learning about the mating habits of Alaskan moose or whatever boring crap it was that Sam was watching. All he wanted to do was plop down in front of the TV and find the most disgusting mind numbing program on to try to help wipe his head of all its non-stop _Sammy Sammy Sammy fuckSamrightnow Sammy Sammy_ thoughts.

He tried to wrestle the remote from Sam then, but Sam just dodged him while saying, “Some people could use a little more culture in their lives and a little less action flicks.”

Dean smiled to himself as he casually got up and switched seats to the high-backed armchair that sat opposite the couch and Sam. He’d just have to entertain himself then. And he found payback very entertaining.

He looked around the high chair back and over at Bobby sitting at the desk far behind him in the other room, his nose buried in his books on a case someone had called him in on, he was all but dead to the world until he found what he was looking for.

He turned back around and saw Sam glancing at him from the corner of his eye so he flashed his best mischievous grin. Dean let his hands slowly run over his chest, until Sam’s eyes met his fully, instantly abandoning all thought for the show he had been so absorbed in.

Dean let his hand trail lower, never taking his eyes off Sam’s, but Sam’s eyes went quickly from his own, to Bobby, back to Dean, to Bobby again, and then they locked onto Dean’s hand and followed it as it made it’s slow slide downwards to the cock swelling in his jeans. Dean let his fingers run up and down the closed zipper a few times, watching Sam’s lips part, his mouth beginning to drop open just a little, his tongue still a little red tinged.

Dean undid the button at the top with a flick of his thumb, and then gripped the zipper and tugged it down just a little, while he enjoyed watching Sam’s expression go from worry, to shock, to lust, to fuck me.

He eased the zipper down the rest of the way. Sam bit his lip and shifted himself in his own jeans. Dean smiled because his brother was in clean sight of Bobby, he couldn’t do a damn thing about how hot Dean was making him other than try to hide it. Sam did try to hide it and crossed his leg. Dean however was shielded by the high back chair, Bobby far behind him in the other room. He'd only get caught if Bobby walked all the way out into the living room. So he took advantage of his cover.

He slowly began stroking his cock through the fabric, tugging it as Sam watched sitting up straighter, holding the couch cushions in a death grip, like if he let go gravity would pull him right into Dean’s lap. Dean stroked himself until his blue striped boxers had a damp spot of precum visibly soaking through them. Kept it up until the white parts of his shorts started to go translucent against the flesh pressed tightly into it. He ran his thumb through it, and Sam bit his bottom lip.

Dean really had meant for the show to end there, but the lust pouring off Sam was like a drug. It flooded into Dean’s veins, through his head, down the tips of his fingers, lighting him up in the best high there ever was. Yeah, Dean was addicted, a total Sam-junkie already. He’d do just about anything to be able to keep that look of desire on Sam’s face.

He tugged his boxers down just a little then, letting just the head of his cock peek out the top. Sam was gone, eyes dark with want, mouth open. Dean flicked his thumb over the head of his cock and Sam’s body jerked as if Dean had just flicked the tip of Sam’s dick instead of his own. Dean watched as Sam’s own hand went down and pushed against himself, rubbed. Dean shook his head and motioned towards Bobby. Sam moved his hand away, brows furrowing in the concentration it took to move his hand away. He watched Dean rubbing his thumb over the crown of his dick, back and forth. Sam’s worried his lip between his teeth as Dean began to stoke himself again. After a minute of watching him, Sam let his legs fall open shamelessly, letting Dean fully see just how hard he was in his jeans for him. That hot, heavy twitch against his denim was for Dean, all for Dean. And Sam wanted him to know it.

Sam’s carelessness was so hot, and contagious as it made Dean pull himself out a little more, stroked his aroused flesh harder. Dean suddenly knew as he looked into his brother’s eyes that if he merely pointed to the floor Sam would have fallen to his knees right there for him, would have let Dean fuck him any way he liked even if the whole world was screaming at them.

That vision made Dean’s hips suddenly buck, and he had to press hard against himself as he tensed up, trying to pull back from the sudden edge. A line of precum slid down the head of his cock in objection to his halt of the proceedings. He looked up at Sam again as his face flushed and he leaned forward with want, and that wasn’t helping Dean’s predicament of trying not to come at the mere thought of him, and fuck! He almost lost it.

He took his hands off himself completely, snapped his boxers back up, now tenting obscenely and took a few deep breathes. He was a pro, he shouldn’t be almost losing it like this, but then Dean knew all those rules –everything he knew about himself before this– flew out the window when it came to Sam. For a split second as he looked into Sam’s eyes, he thought about just finishing right there, coming while Sam watched him.

As soon as he had gained back a semblance of control he zipped up before his bad ideas could take full hold of him. Sam’s fists were white knuckling the edge of the couch now, his breathing ragged. Dean smirked as he got up from the chair and quickly plopped down next to him again on the couch, crossing his legs, trying to hide the evidence as best he could as if he hadn’t just been rubbing his dick in plain sight.

“Whatcha watching Sammy?” He said innocently.

Sam stuttered.

“You know, what are you watching _on TV_?” and he couldn’t help the smug grin that spread from ear to ear.

“Fuck, Dean,” Sam whispered in a shaky breath finally peeling his eyes away from him.

Dean leaned in and let his lips graze Sam’s ear as he whispered, “Soon.”

Sam’s whole body tightened then, his legs jerking slightly, his head dropping down, his arms nearly ripping the cushions they were grasping. Dean realized that just the thought of fucking him had made Sam lose it, cream his jeans right in front of him.

Dean just stared at the wetness appearing in Sam’s lap where the head of his still hard shaft was pressed into the denim. He knew Sam was sensitive, but still, the fact he had gotten Sam so incredibly worked up that he came in his clothes completely untouched... Dean felt something like a god. He was the god of cock teasing!

He glanced over at Bobby who was apparently none the wiser, occasionally frowning, and reaching for a book to look something up.

He gave a fast peck to Sam’s cheek then before snatching up the remote from off the couch next to him, “I believe it is time for some action flicks.” Sam was unable to argue.

_Yeah, that was so totally worth the blue balls._

Dean gloated for awhile that he had won. That was until he went to bed and found Sam’s cum soaked boxers on his pillow. Sam was aware his brother had more than a little kink for his dirty laundry, let alone dirty laundry he himself had a hand making that way. _Sonofa_ – Dean knew it was filthy and disgusting, but it was so fucking hot, he wanted to bury his face in them and jack himself silly on the bed while he was thinking about it. But Sam snuck into his bed early that night before Dean had a chance, and instead, respecting his own not doing anything in Bobby’s house rule, had to go to sleep aching, with his second bout of blue balls that day.

Sam chuckled in his ear, “Hard day?”

"I'm going to get you for this," Dean muttered, but it was blurry with lust and said into his pillow that smelled like Sam.

"Mmm," Sam said, chin resting on the crook of Dean’s neck. He slipped his fingers below the soft waistband of Dean’s sleep shorts and rested them against his bare thigh, and fell asleep a moment later.

***

Sam so did not play fair.

Dean had pulled some tiny little pranks on Sam throughout the day, but his brain was so backlogged with want he couldn’t think straight, and nothing really landed. Sam on the other hand, was seriously just fucking with his head now.

Sam stripped off his shirt that evening and started a workout in the living room, conveniently five feet away from where Dean was sitting on the couch again watching TV, innocently recovering.

Sam began in on sit-ups, until Dean was hypnotized by the movement, the way his tanned muscles pulled and released beautifully. Sam was perfection. It wasn’t an exaggeration in Dean’s mind. If God had said he’d build Dean his perfect mate, he’d have asked for Sam just so and no different. The thought that really amused him though, was that he could picture Sam fifty years from now, old and grey, and he’d still be the prettiest thing Dean ever saw.

Bobby walked past them and Dean forced his eyes back to the television, he felt like he was all of thirteen again when he had been caught sneaking a peek at John’s Playboys. He put up his best poker face and tried to breathe. Sam was just working out, the kid was always working out, and Dean was watching TV. Nothing weird was going on, and the pillow in his lap - yeah that was there because it was comfortable, and certainly not because he was hiding the fact that his dick had been hard for what felt like two days straight now and it was about to bust the zipper open on his jeans…

“I’m gonna throw something in the oven, should be on the table in forty-five.” Bobby said.

“Need help?” Dean asked hoping for an excuse to flee the room that wouldn’t give Sam satisfaction.

“Not exactly rocket science, think I can manage.”

Sam nodded at Bobby innocently, as he stood and tossed up his bar in the doorway and started in on chin ups.

“Knock it off, Sam,” Dean said the moment Bobby was out of earshot. But that just made Sam raise and lower himself at a faster pace.

His pants were riding ever lower with each repetition, revealing that V dip in his hips that made Dean’s already lust fried brain turn to mush. Sam kept it up until his skin was glistening. Dean watched every single bead of sweat slip-slide slowly down the hard ripple of muscles that made up the whole of Sam. He wanted to chase each one with his tongue.

His brother turned to him, dropping his feet back to the floor, flexing, showing off, before he went down to began push-ups.

Dean tried to keep his eyes on the TV and not on his little brothers gorgeous shoulders and the way the biceps in his arms moved as he lowered and raised himself to the floor.

“Seriously Sam, knock it off now.”

“What?” Sam asked, breath coming out fast from the exertion, he stopped for a minute. “We all can’t just sit around stuffing our face with pudding and popsicles,” He couldn’t stifle the laugh. “Some of us haven’t been blessed by the gods with burger-abs, we actually have to work for it.” He continued on, then threw Dean a suggestive look and started doing them one handed.

Dean slid off the couch and padded over to him. He put his socked foot on the bare skin of Sam’s back and pushed. Sam, putting his other arm back to the floor, kept going, up and down, another two pushups. Dean pushed harder with his foot, really putting his weight into it. Sam slowed but didn’t stop, still raised up against the pushing force.

As Sam went back down towards the floor, Dean, while aware it was not his brightest idea but not wanting to admit defeat, swung a leg over him until he was straddling him and then sat straight down on his back, pushing Sam, who blew out a gust of breath, right down to the floor. Dean’s hands braced against the sweat slicked skin and smooth muscled planes of his back. _And oh, this was a bad idea._

“Yeah, lets see you t–” his snarky reply was half way out of his mouth when he felt Sam grunt and then his body was being lifted off the ground. It was slow and a little shaky, but Sam raised himself _and_ Dean, still perched on his back, all the way up in a full pushup.

“How the hell are you even doing this?” Dean asked, seriously impressed as Sam lowered himself all the way back to the floor and let out a little chuckle.

Dean could feel Sam’s muscles straining underneath his thighs, his shoulders flexing and tense under his fingers. Hell he felt the power of Sam right up in his balls that happened to be snug up against the center of all that lean contracting muscle at the moment as with a sharp exhaled breath he raised Dean up again. And down. Dean leaned forward some and pressed his growing arousal into Sam, he couldn’t help it.

Sam paused a moment like that was all he had in him. Dean opened his lips again to make a biting comment, but just then Sam pushed up again with a heaving grunt, lifting him, and all that came out of Dean’s mouth was a thin whine of need. He was seriously hoping it had been a proper rugged manly noise at least, and not the pathetic whimper-beg-plead it sounded like to his own ears. He pulled himself off Sam, trying to stand up, get away.

Sam, panting but without another word, gripped Dean’s legs and pulled him slowly to the floor. He flipped him to his back and lay out on top of him, pinning Dean’s hands above his head, pressing against Dean until he ripped the same noise from him again, and there was no denying it was a whimper this time.

He put his hands to the floor, his legs open on either side of him and did a pushup, right there, over Dean, looking down. He did another, his body flexing over Dean and this time he kissed him on the way down, let his body dip so it was touching all the right places at once.  
As he pulled up again Dean looked down at Sam’s tight, flat belly, the steel of his arms, and the form of his chest.

Sam cocked an eyebrow and said as his breath rushed in and out, “Do you think I am strong enough to hold you up and fuck you against a wall?”

Sam had a grin of victory on as Dean was the one to, not so slowly, make his way out of the room this time. But it wasn’t a run, no sir, Dean did not shove Sam off, leap away and fly out of the room like a bat out of hell, sprint his way straight to the shower so as not to fling himself on Sam and……Okay, _fine_. Sam won that round.

Dean was in the bathroom a second later, his fingers fumbling at his jeans, one brush of his hand against his already pulsing cock, as he tried to get his boxers down, sent come everywhere. On his jeans. On the fucking shower curtain, for christsakes. He leaned against the sink and let the aftershock roll through him, cum dripping over his fingers.

Dean jerked off in the shower furiously after that because, come on, he was only human and a front row ticket to the Sam show simply demanded it. All it took was the mental images of the day and a moan of Sam’s name, and then he felt the warm surge of another release on his hand as his body tipped into that place of pleasure, right before it shot back up into need. Because outside of Sam, nothing would ever satisfy him again. The water had finally turned cold at that point, and he was glad for it, as he still felt like he could use some cooling off. He stuck his face right under the spray and let it wash over him.

He made his way out of the bathroom thinking that if they stayed much longer his right arm was going to be disproportionate to this left when he practically slammed into a wall of Sam.

He had been standing outside the half closed door, and now he was flushed with a hand pressed over the ridged length of the obvious erection he was sporting. Dean did a quick check for Bobby, and then grabbed Sam up for a fast wet kiss, making sure to rub his fresh from the shower towel clad body against Sam’s hardness. And then, god he tried to stop himself, he pushed on Sam’s shoulders, pushed until Sam sank, melted, right onto his knees on the floor. Dean smiled down at him knowing that this was his teasing payback for the night.

“I was in the shower just now thinking about you,” Dean said and Sam moaned, right there, loud and dirty and completely ready. Dean grabbed Sam’s hair and pulled his head back roughly like he was going to do it. Instead, Dean turned on his heels and practically skipped down the hallway away from him, leaving Sam on his knees, with nothing but a cold shower before dinner.

***

Dean had meant to throw an apology Sam’s way when he saw how quiet he was at dinner. Sam picked at his food, stabbing it with his fork like it had personally insulted him.

Dean guessed that he had gone a bit too far, but he hadn’t gotten a chance to say anything as Bobby was with them. Sam went sulkingly to the shorter couch in the other room to sleep that night before Bobby had gone to bed, so there was nothing for Dean to do. He stayed up and watched part of a Three Stooges marathon with his mentor and fretted over it.

Bobby patted Dean on the shoulder during a commercial. “I’m real glad to see you looking so much better. You had me real worried. Sam too, that boy wouldn’t take more than a fifteen minute nap at a time, watched over you like a little bulldog.”

Dean could picture Sam, all strung out and typing away at his computer about Sandman lore, writing notes. Somewhere deep in his head he thinks he can even remember Sam’s voice talking to him, telling him to wake up.

“Wouldn’t let up until I finally agreed to put you in his head. I kept telling him it was too dangerous. But he sure can be a stubborn ass. A Winchester trait I guess,” Bobby said.

Dean laughed a minute, but then his mind went running back to one word, “Wait, what do you mean dangerous?”

“Ah. Guess I shoulda figured Sam wouldn’t have mentioned that bit.”

“Oh ho, but you are so going to tell me now.”

Bobby scratched his beard a little, thinking. “Well, you were under the Sandman magic, so we sort of had to double whammy you to get you into Sam’s head. It took some powerful hoodoo to reverse the situation, which meant that if you still couldn’t wake up, you would have stayed stuck in his head for good. That means Sam wouldn’t have woken up again either. Or if he did, he’d a’ ended up with something akin to split personalities.”

“Bobby, you shouldn’t have let him!” Dean said in shock.

“You really think I could have stopped him? Did you not hear the part about him being a stubborn ass? He’d just have found another way. Probably a worse one. He even told me I wasn’t allowed to wake him up at all until I saw you wake up. Talk about putting a lot on a fella! Believe me when I say, as much as I care about you, boy, that I did try to talk him out of it. Threatening, cajoling, the works.”

The realization of how much Sam had risked for him sunk in. Sam had essentially decided that if Dean wasn’t going to wake up, then he wasn’t going to wake up either. Sam was going to stay asleep and live in his head with Dean. That was how much he loved him.

Dean could feel the dampness clinging to his eyelashes as he blinked. His chest started aching with lovesickness.

“So, like I was saying, I’m more than glad to see you up and looking good.”

Bobby turned his eyes back to the TV and let Dean get choked up without him starin’. For monster killing, demon hunting, suppos’ed badasses, the Winchesters sure did cry a lot...

They watched the Stooge antics for a long while, chuckling together as Moe shouted out that they were “the best plumbers to ever plumb a plum.” It was one of Dean’s favorite episodes.

“Bobby,” Dean said during the next commercial, “I just wanted to tell you…” He knew all these open heart to heart talks with Sam were making him a bit more prone to rambling now, but he couldn’t help himself. “When I was dreaming, I remembered that time you took me to see the Dallas Mavericks. It meant a lot to me.”

Bobby grinned. “Me too, kid.”

“I wanted to say thanks. N-not-not just for that, but for everything. You’ve never uh, you’ve never turned me away for anything, never deserted me. You always answered my calls. You are actually the only person who has _always_ answered my calls. I never told you before, but I wanted you to know what it meant to me.”

Bobby tipped his trucker cap down over his eyes a minute. He cleared his throat after that and gave Dean’s shoulder another affectionate pat.

They watched the show in silence other than the shared laughs for the rest of the episode.

“You know…maybe you ought to think about calling your father,” Bobby said and Dean sort of gave a little jump. “I am aware there is some serious bad blood between you right now, and I ain’t askin. But…”

“No.”

“But–”

“No. We got nothing to say.”

There was finality to Dean’s words then, in a way that Bobby never thought he’d hear coming from him on the one subject he always held sacred, his father. He nodded and dropped it for the time being.

After the third episode Bobby said goodnight and went off to bed. Dean watched another episode himself, but his eyes grew blurry and he flicked the TV off.

Dean walked over to where Sam was hanging long limbed over the other short couch underneath the window. He wanted to hug him, kiss him, swear at him a little for risking himself, but his brother was out like a light. Dean doubly wanted to apologize for upsetting him now, but decided not to wake him.

He kissed his forehead and went to bed.

In all fairness the image of Sam on his knees totally plagued all of Dean’s dreams, until he woke up more than once, horny and hard and missing Sam’s body heat behind him.

***

Just before dawn Dean woke to the now familiar warmness of Sam. “M’sorry Sammy,” he mumbled barely out of dreams. Sam shifted toward him and pressed in closer.

Dean’s mind snapped to fully awake as he felt Sam’s hands tug at the back of his tight black sleep shorts until they were halfway down his ass. Sam’s cock was poking out the front of his own boxers, and he pressed it against Dean’s skin. Sam began rocking his hips, wrapping an arm around Dean to keep him still, rubbing his cock against the cleft of Dean’s bare ass. It was just a little, just a tease, but it was enough to send a sizzle straight up Dean’s body until he was fighting to stifle the noises trying to escape past his lips. He felt the hard warm drag of naked skin against naked skin, the thickness of Sam against him. Dean wanted more, wanted harder. His cock was already painfully erect when Sam leaned in and kissed the back of his neck, the slight stubble of unshaven face brushing against the spot, the warmness of his lips. Sam sucked on the sensitive skin at the base of Dean’s neck until it was tingling as if he had branded him, marked him as ‘Property of Sam’.

He slapped Dean on the ass and rolled out of bed quietly making his way back out to the couch with, to what Dean’s mind was officially, an evil chuckle. That little pervy bitch! He hadn’t even been mad, he was just plotting his revenge that whole time. Dean couldn’t help the amused smile.

As he shuffled into the kitchen for breakfast he could still feel Sam’s lips on that spot, not to mention the desperate ache for more throughout his entire lower body. Yes, that certainly was payback, though he wasn’t sure how it was a prank.

“Morning,” Dean said sitting down at the table across from Bobby. Sam set a bowl of cereal down in front of him, orange juice, vitamins. When Dean looked up to say thank you, Sam giggled. That… wasn’t suspicious at all. He looked down to his cereal, wondering if Sam laced it with laxatives or something.

Bobby started laughing.

“What? ... _what_?” Dean asked.

Bobby wouldn’t say a word, just sipped his coffee and kept shaking his head. Sam was smiling too big.

Dean didn’t get the joke until he was staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. It didn’t say ‘Property of Sam’, but the black marker lining Dean’s face did say a number of other things. He thought the dick drawn across his cheek was in poor taste, though the unibrow was funny. Sam had even given him a tiny little black marker mustache.

Sam hadn’t slept in his bed because he knew Dean would wake up if he was shifting all over the place to draw on him. All those times he woke in the night were probably because Sam had a marker to his face, ducking down whenever Dean opened an eye. That bastard.

Dean raised his eyebrows and watched the unibrow move. They seriously needed to call a truce already.

Sam walked by the bathroom snickering.

***

Dean was upstairs in the shower, and Sam was downstairs thinking non-stop dirty things about Dean upstairs in the shower.

Sam knew he had a fetish, and Dean knew it now too. Dean had already got him to his knees over it once. Now he had made a big production of telling Sam about how he really needed to shower, described how he needed to soap himself up all over. _All_ over. Had done it just to screw with Sam’s head. And it worked, because all Sam could think about right now was his damn brother in the damn shower.

It was like a Pavlovian response at this point. The sound of a water hitting tile made Sam horny, because listening to moans through a closed doors was the closest he thought he’d ever get to sex with Dean. Clean, wet, magnificent and naked in the shower right this second Dean. Who was probably this moment…

He was so lost in his dirty thoughts that when his phone rang he answered it without even checking the caller ID.

His hello was only met with heavy breathing… and the sound of running water. Sam flipped the phone away from his ear quick and saw it was Dean’s cell calling.

“Dean?”

“Talk to me Sammy,” Dean’s voice gasped out on the other end.

“…What?”

“You use to call me, and just your voice in my ear use to get me going. You’d hang up and I’d just leave the phone up against my ear and fuck my fist right there, wherever the hell I was. I want that now, right now. Talk dirty to me, Sam.”

And it took everything Sam had not to grab his suddenly erect manhood and stroke himself off in that second.

Sam stammered for a minute, until Dean purred out, “You are down there thinking about me right? Thinking all those nasty things I saw in your head? So tell me what you like. Tell me what you think about when you get off.”

Sam was almost surprised by his own voice when he finally remembered he had one. It was slow and dark as he said, “Your lips, love to think about you sucking me off.”

Dean let out a shuddering heavy breath, and Sam let his head drop back down to the pillow of the couch, pressing the phone to his ear, listening to Dean.

“All warm and wet like when I kiss you, but all over that thick cock of yours. Bet you can’t wait to see that, huh? My lip stretched around you, watching me as you thrust in and out of my mouth.”

Sam slipped a hand into his jeans.

"Uh-uh, don't touch yourself yet. I don’t want you putting a hand on yourself until I say you can,” Dean growled into the line, and Sam pulled his hand away fast.

“Tell me, tell me what makes you come, Sam.”

“I-I think about everything. Everything about you gets me off. Sometimes I think about you spreading yourself open for me and just let me, you let me look at you.”

“Yeah, hell yeah,” Dean said, “You climb in between my legs Sammy, fuck me open?”

“With my tongue first.”

Dean let out a string of curses mixed with moans.

Sam could hear the sound of skin on skin through the phone as Dean rubbed himself rough, heard his shallow panting breath, the water still in the background. He thought of Dean naked and fisting his cock, about to come from all this talk between them. Sam began to make low and dirty sounds into the phone, too turned on to help it.

“Do you know what I want Sammy? I want to push to your hands and knees and fuck you hard. So bad, you don’t even know.”

“Yes, Dean, yes, I…,” Sam couldn’t even finish the sentence, his dick was spilling precum in his shorts, he was going to lose it embarrassingly fast again without a hand on him.

“I want to bury every inch of my big cock in your tight little hole, make you take it. Yeah, you are gonna take it so good for me, aren’t you, baby?” Dean said.

Sam’s fingers dug into his thigh, from the hard pulse of arousal that went through him. Dean talking dirty was too much. He began to beg, “Please, let me, let me, I need to...”

“You hard for me now, dying to get off? You just want to get a hand on yourself, huh, come while you listen to me?" Dean asked.

“Yes!” Sam gasped.

“That is what I like, I just want to keep you hard for me.”

Sam was lost to it, he didn’t know how many times he said please, didn’t know what he promised.

“You could use your hand, Sam, but I bet you’d like it even better if it was my mouth sucking you off right now.”

“Oh god, Dean, please!”

Dean’s voice suddenly turned sinful, “Why aren’t you up here already? Fucking my dirty mouth?”

Sam dropped the phone, jumped over the back of the couch and pounded up the stairs taking three at a time. His clothes coming off in a flurry, he flung open the door. It only hit him a millisecond before he was yanking open the shower curtain that the water wasn’t running.

“JESUS!” Bobby yelled, bubbles flying up.

Sam was staring down at Bobby. Bobby in the bathtub, taking a bath, bubbles clinging to the hairs on the pale skin of his chest. Naked and now pointing a gun at Sam.

“Uh, uh, um,” Sam said as he let go of the shower curtain. His brain not understanding.

“Emergency there?” Bobby asked diverting his eyes and setting the gun back down between the scented candles he currently had burning. Sam’s hands immediately flew in front of his withering erection.

“Balls,” Bobby said, then sputtered at his own choice of words. “Boy, how many times I gotta see you naked in this life? Geeze. There is another bathroom downstairs. Get out.”

Sam backed out of the bathroom fast, stumbled when he reached the door, mumbling his apologies. He snatched up his jeans and pulled them on. Grabbed his shirt, couldn’t even find his boxers.

Dean was fully clothed, grinning up at him from the bottom of the stairs. A post-orgasmic haze was about him, he obviously finished off in the other bathroom where he had been running the tap to trick Sam. Probably laughing and coming at the same time.

“You are an asshole,” Sam said.

“Oh yeah. But I made you talk me off in the middle of a prank, I think that makes me,” Dean beamed, “a prank war winning asshole.”

***

The air was all static electricity that night when Dean woke, like a live thing that was creeping around the house. A spring storm was rolling in, the rumble of thunder growing closer. His back felt cold. He wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep now that Sam had left to return to the couch. So he sat there thinking about all that had happened over the past week. It was fun, but he was glad they finally called a truce. Then he lay there just thinking about Sam. He realized it was pretty close to Sam’s birthday, and at least he knew what to get him this year. He grinned at that thought. He rolled over and listened to the storm get closer. It howled at the windows and the house creaked.

The first crack of lightning lit up the room. A dark, solid form was silhouetted in the doorway.

Dean jumped.

“You trying to give me a frigging heart attack, Sam?”

The patter of rain hitting the roof began but Sam didn’t answer.

There was intention in the way the shadowy form moved towards him, it made Dean’s blood rush like the rain outside.

“Sammy?”

The form was on top of Dean a split second later, pushing Dean into the mattress. Dean got his hands on its shoulders and felt bare skin, bare skin all the way down. His hands ran until they found the perfect muscles and flesh of his ass. A flash of lightning lit him up. Sam was naked, completely naked, leaning down to take Dean. No arguments left, no more stalling. Dean moaned and closed his eyes waiting for the kiss. But it doesn’t come.

He opened his eyes again, and the vague shape of Sam’s face in the darkness looks afraid. Looks absolutely terrified.

The next flash of lightning lit him up. Sam’s eyes were a sandstorm, raging and whipping in his eye sockets. His lips cracked like a dry waterbed in the desert, his hair caked with sand and grit. The skin under Dean’s hands was suddenly like quicksand, they sunk in below his skin, hot, too hot. Suddenly Sam was a pillar of nothing but moving coursing sand. Dean tried to yell but the only noise that came out was a raspy choke.

“Wake up,” Sam’s voice suddenly echoed around the room. “Wake up, Dean!”

Dean startled awake to find himself in the quiet peace of the dimly lit spare room, Sam, fully clothed, was propped up on one elbow looking at him concerned. The clock said it was only 2am.

“I was enjoying the happy noises you were making, but then it turned into something not so happy. You okay?”

“Nightmare.” Dean rubbed his fingers together, they felt a little gritty.

“Well, don’t worry, I’ll kill all the boogeymen,” Sam laughed softly, he flicked the light off on the nightstand and rolled back into Dean, getting awfully close to a cuddle.

Dean turned all the way around in the bed and faced Sam. He waited a minute until his eyes adjusted to the dark. He looked at Sam’s face, the line of his jaw he could make out in the darkness the slight shine to his eyes, his mouth a smile. He kissed him then, soft, and Sam hummed into his lips.

Dean Winchester hadn’t prayed in a long damn time, but right then he said a prayer. Because as he kissed his Sammy, he realized, his mother was right, there had to be an angel watching over him. Maybe he fell asleep on the job, or there were just some things he couldn’t change. But how else could he possibly explain someone as beautiful as Sammy in something as beautiful as in love with _him_? Coincidences happen, but this was a miracle. One he was afraid wouldn’t last.

With a sigh he dropped back down to his pillow, but stayed facing Sam. Sam moved in close and draped an arm over him.

“Dreamed you were a monster,” Dean slurred sleepily after a few minutes.

“Well that is flattering,” Sam said.

“Mmm, well it started out kinda hot, but then…”

After a minute of quiet Sam realized Dean was falling back asleep, “But then what?”

“You were,” Dean yawned, “Sandman Sammy.”

Sam tensed, a million thoughts ratcheting around his brain. “You’re dreaming about the Sandman?” He asked. Dean didn’t reply.  
Dean was already back asleep, he had seen worse in his life, a nightmare was hardly going to keep him awake.

Sam looked at him for awhile, until sleep tugged at him a little too.

He was leaning back down, snuggling into Dean when the hairs on the back of his neck abruptly stood up, he turned in the darkness.

There was a dark form standing in the doorway.

 

 

To be continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my awesome (extremely straight and very scandalized) proofreader, whom, whenever I get stuck on a scene and I ask for advice, mocks me and says, “Just write Bobby in a bathtub.” There! THERE ya bastard! I wrote it! Now what are you going to say? ;) Also, thank you to everyone who has left me comments and Kudos so far. They are the reason my muse speaks and I keep typing.


	16. Gripping Your Pillow Tight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, so you think you can tell  
> Heaven from Hell,  
> Blue skies from pain?  
> Can you tell a green field  
> From a cold steel rail?  
> A smile from a veil?  
> Do you think you can tell?  
> -Pink Floyd

He had been watching them for days. They didn't seem to notice. Careless.

He watched as the tall figure slinked into the small bedroom without turning on a light, once the house had gotten to that quiet place that said everyone else was asleep. Had seen the outline of it curl around the other form in the bed. He watched until he had seen too much. He knew a kiss even in the dark.

The light switch was thrown, temporarily blinding them all.

“Both of you, up, _now_.”

“Dad?” His boys said in shocked unison. John was happy to see that at least Sam noticed him—even in the last minute, he was clutching the knife he had pulled from under Dean’s pillow.

John Winchester meant to come when he was sober, do this with a clear head, but the more he thought about his sons and their actions the more it seemed the whiskey poured itself right into his glass. So when he reached the bottom of yet another bottle and found no peace there, he finally came to confront his boys.

“ _Now_ ,” he repeated.

Dean scrambled up out of bed and away from Sam like Hellhounds were after him. He looked soft and vulnerable standing there barefoot on the hardwood, sleep rumpled.

Sam on the other hand stayed right where he was, defiant as ever, his back against the old wooden headboard of the single bed, his arms folded over his bare chest and the blankets still pulled up around his legs. He followed Dean with his eyes as his brother rounded the foot of the bed, not bothering to throw another glance in John’s direction.

“I’m ashamed of you,” a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red said in John’s voice.

The words made Dean stop and stand, facing John from across the room. Like a Wild West gunslinger…that had already been shot.

“Pack your stuff. We are leaving.” He turned back to Sam. “And if you follow us, Sam, so help me…”

Dean’s body was rigid as he marched the expanse of the room towards John. His eldest took orders and didn’t question them, John was glad for that. All he needed to do was get them apart, talk to Dean. He needed to keep his temper under control this time and get him to see the path he was on was wrong.

“Dean, _please_ ,” Sam said as he watched Dean almost at John’s side now. The plea was heartbreaking even to John’s ears. “Please, don’t. You don’t always have to do what he says, you–”

“Quiet,” John said and took not even half a step, more like a flex of his foot towards Sam…and then suddenly he found the world tilting wildly.

The rough worn rug grazed his elbows, his backside hurt as it met the floor before the rest of him, his face hurting even worse. It took John a moment to realize what had happened. He had been laid out flat on his ass by his son for the second time in his life. Dean was standing unrecognizable in his fury above him, his eyes snake green and just as venomous.

This wasn’t a self defense blow or a snap of judgment. Dean had punched him with enough force to promise more than a spectacular black eye—punched him like he was trying to take his head off. Another hard fist connected with flesh. John was rarely taken off guard, yet this punch was somehow just as surprising as the first, right in the chin, his teeth clacking, blood instantly pooling at his lips from his bitten cheek.

The hot throb of injury finally pulled John back into the situation. Dean was over top of him on the floor looking like vengeance. Unlike what he and Sam had thought, Dean had not been approaching with shame, head bowed. He had been approaching with fury.

“Stop this now, that’s an order!” John said as he dodged the next punch. But Dean was a storm of fists, landing a few more blows, one being a savage right hook to the solar plexus, the radiating pain sobering John up.

It was Sam’s turn to scramble off the bed, mouth hanging open in surprise. He was at Dean’s side a second later pulling him back, holding him with all his strength.

“Dean!” Sam was tugging him, arms wrapped around his middle. He pulled Dean back and wedged himself between him and John.

Dean reached around him and swung again for John, “Everywhere he gave you a bruise I’m gonna give him ten!” John met Dean’s eyes at those words, and his son lunged at him, with only Sam stopping him from making the threat a reality.

“You ever lay a finger on Sammy again you sonofabitch and I’ll kill you!” Dean’s anger was so strong it was practically another punch. “I’ll _kill you_!”

There had been a lot of things that had wanted to kill John, but none he was so sure could.

Dean tried to shake Sam off of him without hurting him. He managed to get a hand on John’s neck despite Sam’s best efforts of keeping him back.

“Stop this! Stop. It’s okay,” Sam said.

“It’s not okay, what he did to you is not okay.”

“Dean, look at me, please.” Dean pulled his eyes up to Sam. “Hitting him isn’t going to make it any better. Stop because I am asking you to.” Dean let John’s shirt collar go with a shove, stood all the way up but didn’t turn his back to John. Dean viewed him as a threat now. He wouldn’t turn his back to him ever again. He was just another monster in Dean’s eyes now...that knowledge made John’s stomach roll and lurch.

Sam put a hand on Dean’s chin and moved his face so that his eyes moved from John, and found Sam’s instead. He leaned into Dean and whispered words John couldn’t hear. He watched the effect of the pacifying words, watched Dean be soothed, the raging seas of his inner turmoil calming. Dean ran a hand possessively down the bare skin of Sam’s back, pulling him in close as Sam continued to speak in hushed words. Sam smiled at him, his thumb running little soothing paths over Dean’s shoulder. Dean nodded to whatever Sam was telling him.

John moved his own thumb over the corner of his lips swiping at the blood there. The coppery taste mixed with the last bits of alcohol fire in his mouth. He got back to his feet, leaning his tired body against the bedroom wall. A million things were running through his head as he looked at them. The anger was hot, but the undercurrent was and always had been sorrow.

All the amazing things Dean could have done and been haunted John’s thoughts, right next to his revenge for Mary. It was another thing he blamed the yellow eyed demon for taking from him. Instead he had to watch as Dean gave up pieces of himself over time. Chunks of his humanity, his sanity, his soul. Hell, John had even asked him to give up those pieces when his mind was sloshing around with his friends Jim, Jack, Johnnie, and Jose, telling him revenge was all that mattered.

 _Take one for the team Dean, we need this information_ , the look on Dean’s face forever burned into his memory at the moment those words left his mouth.

 _There will always be next year for that_ , as Dean set down another one of his hopes and dreams that they both knew he would never pick back up.

 _Its okay, Dad_ , Dean would say in return. Had been saying it since he was kid. It broke John’s heart every time. But he was unable to stop asking.

He hadn’t done much better by Sam. John had missed Sam’s first words, his first steps, he missed almost all of Sam. Even when he was there he almost always said the wrong thing. Hell, he handed Sammy a gun when he said he was scared of closet monsters because he himself was afraid to say there’s no such thing and be proven wrong. He missed it all until one day he walked in and realized his son, his boy, was a man. And a stranger to him. But Dean was there. Always there for Sam. Sam turned to him for comfort, protection…love.

And Dean never complained, not once. He took care of Sammy, he took care of John. He grew up fast, was cooking and doing laundry before most kids were properly tying their shoes. John had stood by and watched little pieces of his son fall away bit by bit to the life. His childhood was the first piece that was pulled from him. The other pieces were taken by monsters , darkness, survivors and the dead, grit, blood, violence, pain, and the endless broken back roads that lead to more of the same.

Could John really blame them? No. This was his fault. But he couldn’t let this happen either, he _couldn’t_. He could not stand by and let Sam take another piece. The last piece.

“Dean, I –“ John began.

“No. If you want forgiveness you can find a priest. You want a fight, I’m right here! I got nothing to say to you either way other than ‘Get out.’”

“Is that how you are justifying this? Saying it is okay what you are doing because I made some mistakes?” John said.

“Mistakes!” Dean growled. Sam put a hand on his chest until he stilled again.

John’s face hardened as he saw Sam’s hand and saw Dean obey him. He stepped towards them, “This ends, now. I'm ending it. I don't care what it takes.”

“Nothing is ending,” Dean said. Sam stood tall next to his brother with a smug satisfaction that John wanted to wipe off his face.

“I made some bad choices, but this, choosing this sin with Sam, this is all on you.” He had to find a way to get through. Any way he could. “You ever stop to think that maybe the way you felt, I’m guessing for a long damn time now, is the reason Sam is the way he is? That he picked up on your perversion as a kid? If you had ever been any kind of good brother to him he wouldn’t want this from you.”

It was like stabbing a knife in and twisting, only it cut them both. Sharp. Dean let out a breath, his mouth moved but no sounds came out.

“It’s not like that and you know it!” Sam said when Dean couldn’t.

“Doesn’t matter your intentions. The kid was smart, you did this to him, You're taking advantage of him,” John said.

“Stop it!” Sam yelled.

“I’m not,” Dean mumbled.

“This thing between you is wrong. And someday Sam is going to realize it. He’s going to figure out what you have done to him, and he is going to leave again.”

Dean’s face went white, his eyes dropping to the floor. There it was. There it was, that button John needed to push, needed to hit harder in order to get them apart. He watched as his words took their desired effect, as they coiled up tight in Dean, balled up hard like the fists at his side.

Sam's eyes flicked to Dean, who didn't move or reply. “Don’t do that, Dean, You saw everything, you know it isn’t like that. Don’t you dare let him make it into something that comes between us now.”

But the fight was draining from Dean until he looked like nothing more substantial than his shadow. John had already tapped into the fear that whispered to him in the night. It was plainly written on his face – him wondering not for the first time if this thing between them wasn’t kismet, beautiful and perfect, but his own dirty fault. And if Sam wasn’t going to leave him all over again when he realized it.

“Stop this. If you want to blame someone, you blame me for making Dean this way,” Sam said.

“I do!” John said back without thinking. He pressed his lips back together in a tight frown.

“Good! Good. Lay it all on me, I can take it. Because I don’t care what you think.”

“Okay, Sam, you want to talk about you in all this? You left your brother over this once already. You left him out there vulnerable. To whatever wanted him, left when we needed you!” John got right in Sam’s face, but his words were really aimed at Dean. “Because of this sick thing between you. That isn’t love. You don’t love him.”

Sam wasn’t about to let their relationship go up in the salted flames of his father’s words. He shoved him and John shoved him back. Dean was there a second later, a hand on John’s chest and a wildness in his eyes that was enough of a warning to make John step back and get in a defensive stance.

“Don’t you ever say that to me again,” Sam’s voice dropped low, burning with anger as he glared at John over Dean’s shoulder. “I love Dean. You are the one that said ‘stop or don’t come back’. You are the one that gave me no choice.”

“And when something else comes along and gives you no choice? You’ll be gone just as quick.”

Sam just shook his head. He closed his eyes and just took a moment. “Why am I surprised. That is what you always do. You beat us down with anything you can. And it is so easy, isn’t it? With me, scared that Dean would hate me. And Dean, standing ever ready to accept blame and responsibility for my welfare because you drilled it into him. But I am an adult, I make my own choices. He needs to learn that and so do you. I’m never leaving him again. Never.”

John was scared for Sam. He was scared of Sam.

“I knew one look at that need in your face and Dean would cave into this sickness, just as he has now. How could you do this to your brother? You know he can’t say no to you.”

Sam balked for a minute. “Dean loves me. You…you twist everything. Try to make all the light around you darkness, because that is all you think is left in the world.”

Dean turned towards him and gave him a look that seemed to boost Sam back up.

“You were never there, you don’t know me or Dean, you don’t know us, and you have no right to try and change us. You haven’t earned it.”

John took that slap of truth and decided to go back to working on Dean, as he had been in enough fights with Sam to know there was no swaying him. “What would your mother think of you right now?”

They never talked about Mary. Dean’s face twisted into grief. He put his hand up as if to say enough. Enough, please.

Sam turned livid. “We are the villains here? Is that what you are trying to make this? Look in the mirror, dad. What would she think of you? If she saw the things you did to me, if she knew what you made Dean do just to keep us…”

“Don’t!” Dean said and Sam bit off the words he so obviously wanted to hurl at John like a Molotov cocktail.

“What did I make Dean do?” John asked.

Sam’s eyes were dark with truths, his jaw clenched, his chest heaving. But all he gave him in return was silence, honoring whatever it was Dean was asking him not to share.

“You could have done anything but what you did!” Sam finally said. “You could have given us up when you knew you were going to live this life. You could have let someone adopt us, found a family to care for us. You could have let mom rest a long time ago. Dropped all this revenge and raised us the way she would have wanted. Been our father. You could have done anything! But you didn’t. You made this choice. And this is who we are. Who we all are.”

John didn’t want to hear it. His wife was lost, and with everything he had learned, maybe Sam was lost now too. But not Dean. That was why he was here. Maybe whatever was left of Dean he could still save.

He had to stop this.

“This is wrong what you are doing,” John said. “Please, come with me, Dean. It isn’t too late. You can make the right choice.”

Dean was still silent, his eyes downcast staring at the threadbare carpet.

Sam rubbed a hand up his own arm, the unconscious habit he had from the ghost of that old wound. “He is mine. When I walk out of this room, wrong or not, it is going to be with Dean. When you walk out it is going to be with nothing but that bottle that you are going to drown in someday.”

“You are brothers, it is wrong!” John repeated the words.

“Wrong. Wrong. What does that word even mean? Is burying your dick in random waitresses so much more noble than love?” Sam said.

John stepped toward Sam with that old surge of anger. “At least it doesn’t make me a frea–”

“Don’t you _**dare**_!” Dean snarled coming back to life in full force that instant. He flew past Sam in one smooth motion and got his hands on John’s collar, shoving him with such anger he knocked the picture frames off the wall. “You finish that sentence and it will be the last goddamn thing you ever say.”

Dean was finished then. He pulled John into a hold, one arm behind his back, and roughly dragged him out of the room. John could have fought back or resisted, and the anger and alcohol churning in his veins were telling him to. But he was done teaching lessons with his fists. He meant to keep the promise this time. Was trying.

“Dean?” Bobby asked. He was standing on the stairs as they went past the dark living room. He had obviously heard the commotion, his gun in hand.

“Dad was just leaving!” Dean shouted back. He made his way through the maze of stacked books and tables of Bobby’s home and flung open the front door. Shoving John out of it.

All the night music of bugs and animals went quiet as the Winchesters busted a hole into the serene night. Sam was right behind them. He closed the door, hoping Bobby wasn’t going to come out and play witness to the rest.

Dean pushed him again until he stumbled off the porch. John tried to cool the anger in himself.

Dean jumped off the porch, his feet landing in the sandy driveway. He shoved John but John just took it and stumbled backwards, away from the porch lights and into the darkness. Dean put his hands on his chest and shoved him again. John’s fists went tight. Dean pushed him hard. Just as John’s fist came up, came up to break his word once again, Dean’s cold demeanor suddenly cracked in half and he shoved John one last time, as tears spilled down his face.

There was absolute stillness then, like time stopped. The only things moving were the stars blinking in the night sky above and the tears falling off Dean’s chin to the parched earth below.

John could see Mary looking out through Dean’s eyes in that moment. Judging him for all his sins.

_Oh god, Mary. What have I done?_

Dean exhaled a shaky sob, and restarted the world.

“How could you do this, dad? How could you…”

It wasn’t hate in his son’s eyes, it was hurt. It was pain and betrayal. He was finally done picking up the pieces. He was done saying it was okay.

“All my life I have been nothing but obedient to your every word because I thought it was keeping Sam safe. I did everything you ever asked of me. And here it wasn’t the monsters out there I needed to be worried about. It was y-you.” His voice broke. “How could you do that to Sammy? How? I don’t care if he set the world on fire, it’s _Sammy_! You are suppose to be there for him. …For me.”

 _Come here, buddy. It’s all right_ , John wanted to say. Wanted to put an arm around him like he was 4 years old again. But it was Sam that walked forward, putting his arm over his brother’s shoulder.

A few silent tears made it down his face too. Tears for Dean. Sam’s arm wrapped around him, he hadn’t cried in front of John, not really cried since all those years ago, when John had...

“We are family, we are all we got! And you threw it away.” He was still sleep rumbled and barefoot, and looked even more vulnerable out here in the dark, broken.

"Dean..." The words were on the tip of John’s tongue. He wanted to say them desperately. _I’m sorry._

“We are finished here,” Dean said. It wasn’t open for discussion. He wiped his arm across his face, his tears vanishing as fast as they had come, slammed back behind a cold expression. Dean grabbed Sam’s hand off his shoulder, kept a firm grip on it, and tugged him away.

“Wait,” John said. “Please,” He added.

Sam turned back to him, but Dean didn’t, still tugging at his brother. “Just stay the goddamn hell away from us.”

“There is something coming for you,” John said, ignoring Dean. “It is what I came here to try and stop. What I’ve been trying to stop all along. I screwed it up. I was angry. But I was trying to protect you.”

Dean continued his path back to the house, up the porch steps, tossing an, “I don’t believe anything you have to say”, over his shoulder.

“Listen to me. This isn’t some rawhead! It isn’t a ghost. It is going to be the worst thing you have ever faced,” John said.

Dean was back on the porch looking down at John who stood several feet off in Bobby’s yard surrounded by old cars and hubcaps stapled to the walls, holding on to the last shred of hope that he could still pry them apart.

“So what is it?”

“I don’t know. I have spent a lot of time trying to find out. What I do know is all the signs. Of everything happening around you that you aren’t paying attention to. It is connected to Sam, it is connected with the two of you being…together. I’ve known it for years. I went back to see Missouri. I took Sam once when he was young. I was angry then, I didn’t want to hear it. She said…that this is Sam’s destiny, but that you have a choice...”

“I choose Sam.” Dean said not even waiting for John to finish.

“It isn’t that easy…”

“What do you mean my destiny?” Sam asked but John ignored him.

“Did she say it was going to hurt Sam?” Dean voiced his only concern.

“No. It is coming for you, only you.”

“Then I don’t care.”

“Dean you have to listen to me, I’m trying to warn you. The only way to stop it, to avoid it from happening, is to let go of Sam. You have to stop this before it goes any further!” John said.

“Let it come!” Dean snapped.

Anger flared in John. How could Dean be this stupid! He moved toward them and Dean stepped out so that he was in front of Sam. His entire body daring John to take one more step.

“Let it all come for me. Don’t you get it? I don’t care! I’d rather have one day with Sam than a hundred years without him. He is the only thing I got that is worth living for, that is worth dying for. I’m not going to let anything take that from me again.”

Sam put a hand on his shoulder, he moved out from behind Dean and stood next to him. Finally, they were standing as one united front, love flowing between them like the shared blood in their veins.

And John could see the truth of it. It was too late. They could come to these crossroads a thousand times, and Dean would always choose the same fork. Would always sell his soul to the devil for his brother. He couldn’t save Dean any more than he could save Mary. Sam. Himself.

“Heaven help us all,” John said.

“Not likely,” Dean moved Sam inside and closed the front door behind them.

***

“What if dad was telling the truth about something coming? About me having some destiny?” Sam said.

They were back in the room talking. Bobby couldn’t go back to sleep and opted to get to work early, or so he said though he seemed to have posted himself near the front door, guns at the ready. Bobby never asked about the drama of the night, but told both of them he was there if they needed an ear, which of course they declined. So they talked in quiet voices behind the closed door of the spare bedroom. Dean paced. Sam sat on the bed jiggling his knee up and down nervously, watching him.

“You have friggin' free will, Sam, all right? No one is out there deciding what happens in your life but you. What would it even be that would come for us for being together anyway?” Dean put on his defensive smile, “Like, the anti-cupid?”

“All I am saying is maybe he had an actual reason for doing what he was doing. Maybe we should have let him talk. What if...”

“It’s not. It was just a last ditch effort to get us apart, can’t you see that? If John knew something more, something that would have protected us, he would have said.”

“Because dad has always been so forthcoming in the past,” Sam huffed.

Dean was not use to being on Sam’s side when it came to their father. He was use to defending him, following his orders. Dean flexed his hand, his knuckles hurt. Everything was askew.

“Right now it is just some half baked theory he is trying to use to get us apart. It’s my ass on the line anyway so don’t worry about it.” The room felt too small, smaller with each loop as he paced it. The maroon patterned wallpaper made him think of guts.

“Yeah, well I love your ass, so I will worry about it.” Sam said. “Maybe I should…”

“Leave?” Dean asked as he stopped pacing and turned to look at Sam. “Is that what you want? To go our separate ways just in case?”

“Dean, come on, I’m–”

“Then go.” The coldness in Dean’s words was arctic.

Sam tried not to lose his temper, and strangle his annoying brother, tried not to let those words stab at him. “Everything dad said about us was bullshit. You know that right? You saw into my head, Dean. It isn’t like I can lie to you. I’m not leaving. I’m talking. Just talk to me.”

“What am I suppose to say? We’re fine,” Dean said.

They didn’t feel fine. Had John poisoned them just that quickly? Sam suddenly needed to feel something real. He put a hand around Dean’s wrist when he made his next pass around the room and tried to tug him down to the bed. He wouldn’t come, so Sam stood up and moved in close himself. Dean’s eyes weren’t welcoming, his feelings were closed off, back bolted behind doors. Sam’s hands were digging into Dean’s hair anyway, pulling him in. He pressed his hot mouth into Dean’s… and got the most thin, tight lipped kiss he had ever received in return.

Dean brushed past Sam. “We’re fine.” He kept on saying it even as he slipped away from Sam, out of the room.

Fine was never fine with the Winchesters.

“Last ditch effort not exactly needed it seems,” Sam said to himself as he sat back down on the bed.

***

John’s words hurt Dean and left him wounded. He wasn’t sure how to cope with that, didn’t know how to open up and tell Sam. What he knew how to do was repress. He spent the rest of that day outside, not exactly avoiding Sam.

He sat in Baby with the music blasting, sweat dripping down his face as the spring day decided it wanted to masquerade as summer. He thought about driving off but for some reason he couldn't do that to Sam, not now. The seat stuck to his arms when he leaned back against them. When Sam came out he cranked _Highway To Hell_ to ear splitting levels. Sam just opened the passenger door and tossed a bottle of water at his head and left.

Dean spent some time with Bobby working on a carburetor, not talking. Then he spent some time on a walk between the rows in the junkyard not talking. He even hid out in the panic room staring at Bobby’s Bo Derek poster, beer in hand…not talking.

Not talking about it, that was normal. Openly talking about his feelings was new. And horrible. But this space between them now wasn’t what he wanted either. He wanted to let it go, to just ignore the doubt, but it still scratched under the skin.

By the time he felt ready to try and talk to Sam, Sam was closed off. Didn’t look up when Dean came in the room, didn’t glance his way no matter what kind of noise he made. Sam was in Bobby’s study, books pulled from piles, cross referencing, and making notes. He didn’t eat dinner, waved off Bobby’s attempts to get him to take a break. Dean didn’t ask as he already knew what he was researching. Trying to find answers that weren’t there.

Dean knew they weren’t there because if they were, John would have found them and told them. He might be angry with them, hell, he might even hate them, but he would still kill evil wherever it lurked. Maybe he hated Dean, but he knew John loved Sam despite it all. He had gone with his father when he went to Sam’s new place at Stanford when Sam was at a class and watched his father salt the place and hide things to ward off various creatures. Dean walked aimlessly through Sam’s new life, looking at pictures held to the fridge with magnets, of a life Sam had chosen over him. John was nothing if not thorough.

So yeah, Dean knew Sam was looking for answers he would never find. There were only two options. Wait and see or go their separate ways and never find out. Only one of those really scared Dean.

“Sam?” Dean said, but Sam didn’t even look up from his books.

Sam didn’t come into the bedroom that night either. Didn’t curl around Dean, safe and warm. At one in the morning, Dean convinced himself if Sam wanted to be a bitch about it, then let him. At two, he felt like a jerk for the way he had been acting. Three in the morning rolled around, and Dean hefted himself out of bed, went out to the couch and pulled Sam back into the room with him. He pushed him into the mattress and rolled his back into him without a word. He tugged Sam’s arm around his chest and held it there.

After a few minutes Dean felt a warm drop touch the skin of his neck and roll down into his shirt collar. “Love you,” He said to his Sammy. That was as much talking as he wanted to do on the matter. He waited until he felt Sam fall asleep against him before he drifted off himself.

The next few day things calmed down.

He kissed Sam again, but he didn’t let himself go to it, and he knew Sam could feel the change. But Sam didn’t get mad, he didn’t bring out the lecture-y tone like he normally did when Dean did something he didn’t like. He was just there. He gave Dean his space, but he never left.

Dean was stretched out on the couch watching TV, trying not to think. He was pretty comfortable, pillow under his head, free reign with the remote. He could get use to the civilian lifestyle. Sam walked up and handed him a bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, his favorite. His brother had been feeding him the last two days like he was trying to fatten him up to be a sacrificial dinner for pagan gods, but Dean just let him. He liked this side of Sam, the “I love you” side. It helped quiet all the other thoughts in his head.

Sam pulled up Dean’s legs and slid onto the couch, pulling his feet back into his lap over him. Dean quickly changed the channels before his brother could see what he was watching.

“Dude, come on. Really?” Sam asked.

Dean rolled his eyes and flicked back to the end of the hospital drama he had been watching.

Sam smirked, but didn’t tease him as he pulled Dean’s right socked foot into his hands. Sam seemed to be getting into the show. Dr. Wang, the sexy but arrogant heart surgeon was falling in love with a coma patient. Sam almost unconsciously started kneading his thumbs against the sole of Dean’s foot. He kept rubbing, pulling on his toes, running his fingers expertly over the arches until it turned into a real foot massage.

Dean had never had someone do something so, well, _nice_ for him before. He wasn’t use to being loved on and cared for. He melted faster than the ice cream in the bowl on his chest.

During the credits, Sam continued to rub his feet. “I think Doctor Sexy kinda looks like me.” Sam smiled down at Dean’s toes.

“You wish.”

“I think that is why you have a crush on him.”

Dean thought it over for a moment then he shrugged and ate some of his ice cream.

“So…how are you feeling?” Sam asked.

“Better,” Dean said around the spoon hanging out of his mouth. It wasn’t really an inquiry about his physical health, his time with the sandman, but his mental health, his time with his father. He flipped channels until he found an old horror movie, the Cabinet of Dr. Caligari.

“You okay?” Dean returned the question and Sam nodded and gave a quiet little half shrug.

There was a silence between them, but it wasn’t really silence, it was filled up with all the things they weren’t saying. “Sam. I can hear you thinking. Stop it.”

Sam continued to think loudly, staring down at Dean’s foot like his sock contained an answer he was looking for.

Dean ignored him for awhile, but finally decided the talking was better than whatever this was. “Well, spit it out already then.”

“Are you sure you aren’t…I mean, you seem better. Are you sure you aren’t stalling cause your changing your mind…you know, about us?”

Dean shifted uncomfortably. “M’not changing my mind. I plan on fucking every part of you real soon.”

Sam said playfully, “Every part of me? Would you fuck my underarm?”

“Yup.” Dean said without hesitation and Sam laughed his amusement.

“How about the bottom of my foot?”

Dean took the foot Sam wasn’t rubbing and pressed it snug against Sam’s crotch and began to move his toes against him. “Mhmm.”

Dean hadn’t crossed that boundary before and he glanced at Sam’s face. Sam’s eyes glazed over, and his fingers stopped rubbing his foot and just held it against him. Fooling around with Sam was Dean’s new favorite thing ever. He wiggled his toes until he got Sam’s zipper down. Finally all the training to pick up paperclips with his toes had a use.

“My chest?” Sam asked after a minute, his eyes closed now, his head leaning back against the couch as his fingers went back to kneading at Dean’s right foot.

“Most definitely.” Dean could feel Sam growing hard under his foot, only his sock and Sam’s boxers separating their skin. “And before you ask, I’m going to come on every one of those pretty little moles on your face too.”

Sam moaned and Dean stopped moving his toes. “Don’t give away our game, noisy.” He was fairly sure Bobby was out, but just in case.

Sam closed his mouth, and Dean continued.

“Dean, if, if,” his breath was fast and he was trying hard to keep thoughts in his head as Dean worked him over with his toes. “If I’m pressuring you, I’m sorry. Really though, I can wait. I’m happy. I uh, I...I... seriously, you have to stop or I won’t be responsible for the condition of your sock.”

Dean stopped moving, but pressed his foot against Sam, feeling how hard he was. Mentally seeing how big he was compared to his foot—and okay, he was a little concerned about his ass for real now.

“You know, we don’t have to do this kind of stuff. I mean, I’ll knock it off if that is what is bothering you. We have to stop all this teasing though too, and I gotta sleep on my own, but I can stop. I’m happy just to, you know, to have you. We can take a step back. I can, uh, well I can try. But we don’t have to stay here. I mean even if we leave, I can, I will…” He paused and rubbed his deft fingers into the arch of Dean’s foot. “I don’t expect anything okay? If this is as much as you can give, it is enough.”

Dean swallowed around the lump in his throat, his heart beating fast like it just figured out what the word unconditional really meant.

Dean didn’t like admitting insecurities. What he _did_ like was watching Sam nearly losing it for him over and over again. He didn’t want that to stop. He moved his foot again, trying to distract him.

“It isn’t like that Sam. Bobby said two weeks, I’m giving him two weeks, okay? That is it. How would it look if we just up and ditched?” Dean pressed his toes against the warmness underneath them.

“It would look normal, because you are always impatient to go. So why not tell me the truth now?”

Sometimes it really sucked just how well Sam knew him. Dean was use to girls and their inability to even fathom what was going on inside his head. Sam could never just let things be. Normally that wouldn’t be too big of a deal, when Dean was backed into a conversational corner with Sam, he’d yell, Sam would yell, sometimes they would throw a punch, and then they would brood, have a beer and not mention it again. This new thing between them had left Dean defenseless.

Sam pulled up his other foot, away from its distracting pressure on his dick. He began to massage it. He rubbed slow, hard circles and for a minute Dean got lost in the fantastic way Sam’s hands moved on him.

“Is it because of dad?” Sam asked quietly.

“No. _No_ ,” Dean assured him.

Sam waited quietly, patiently.

After another minute of silence, he let both of Dean’s feet drop. “I’m sorry about everything that happened between us all, I...”

“I’m not,” Dean said. Sam decided not to say anything else on that topic for now. It was too raw of a wound still.

“Are you worried about something coming for us? I'm worried about that.”

Dean shook his head. “Well, stop. Things from the dark are always after us, we’ll deal with any new hell bitches just like we always have.”

He could feel Sam’s eyes on him, trying to solve him like a puzzle. He shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

He wanted to not think about it. “Airplanes and mean lunch ladies,” Dean deadpanned.

Sam rolled his eyes, tonguing at his cheek. “Be serious.”

“I am serious, you talk to me about fear when you have a mean lunch lady only give you broccoli three days in a row.”

“Well if we ever see her again I will beat her senseless with her own tongs,” Sam said. “But that isn’t what you meant. If this is about…”

“This is gonna change everything and we can’t take it back!” Dean blurted out.

Sam looked at him surprised. Dean who had sex like it was just another hunger to feed and nothing more, suddenly serious over the matter.

“Yeah. It’ll change things, but not as much as you think.”

Dean didn’t say anything just stared down into the remains of his melted ice cream.

“I’m sure we are still going to get on each other’s nerve and say the wrong things, only now afterwards we can have makeup sex instead of a beer.” Sam grinned and started rubbing circles into the ball of Dean’s foot again. “I’m sure we will still both be stubborn and harass each other, sometimes you’ll be forced to eat something healthy, I’ll still be forced to listen to nonstop mullet rock, only now we can kiss each other for cooperating. And you are still going to flirt like it is your religion and I’m still going to be jealous. But the change will be that I know it’ll be me you are going home with.”

Dean thought all of it over, yeah he liked all of that. He liked the idea that they would change, but not really. But the negative part of his mind, fueled by his father’s words, was screaming otherwise. _Enjoy it while you have it because eventually it would be gone._ Yeah, that was a lesson that Dean knew pretty fucking well. He couldn’t do it again.

“But,” Dean fought with himself over the confession. “Love is…scary.”

Sam started to laugh and tried to catch himself, but the smile was still there as he spoke. “Everything we face day in and day out, and that is scary? You aren’t suffering from another bout of ghost sickness are you?”

Dean didn’t laugh, didn’t joke. He finally met Sam’s eyes.

“I’m serious. If we do this, I couldn’t go back. I need you to know that. Know what this means to me. If you changed your mind now it would be hard, but I could choke it down, and we could go back to life as we knew it. But you cross that line Sam, and…you are stuck with me.” The words felt small, his voice was small. Dean would have been mad at himself if it weren’t for the fantastic way Sam was rubbing out the anger through his feet.

“If-If you ever leave me again…Sammy, I can’t…”

“Hey, hey, listen. I already told you, I’m not going anywhere,” Sam said soothingly.

“And when you finally realize I’m _not_ worth it?”

He twisted Dean’s toe until he met his gaze. “You’re worth it, Dean,” Sam said, “I’m never leaving again, I promise. I’m not going to change my mind. You are worth it, worth everything.”

Dean nodded a bit, “Yeah okay.”

Sam collapsed his giant body over him, knocking Dean’s ice cream bowl to clatter to the floor.

“Fucking listen to me,” He said trapping Dean below him. He pushed his arms into the couch above either side of Dean’s shoulders, getting so close that Dean’s eyes couldn’t look at anything but Sam’s face. His knees were resting on either side of Dean’s hips bracketing his body. He was still hard from all the footplay, and he pressed himself down into him. Dean couldn’t help but arch up into it a little. Sam moved his hips just to see the look on Dean’s face, see the fires get stoked behind his eyes.

“Whatever worries you are holding onto, you need to let it all go. It isn’t true. I know you better than anyone else in the world, so you have to believe me when I say I know what I’m getting into, and I’m not going to change my mind. I’m never going to leave you. I love you.”

It was too direct, Dean tried to look away but there was nowhere else to go. He was looking right into Sam’s eyes as he said again, “I fucking love you.”

He paused, letting his teeth nip at Dean’s vulnerable bottom lip before running his tongue over it softly. “You are already stuck with me, Dean, no matter what. So consider it too late. Even if you are changing your mind, it is too goddamn bad, because you are mine now.”

That made Dean smile like he had just won a lifetime supply of...well, Sam. “Shut up and kiss me again then.”

Sam kissed him in one of those life altering kisses only Sam had ever given him and Dean leaned into it, let himself go in it. The fear of losing Sam and all the other worries hadn’t dissipated completely, but, god, he was a fool if he thought he could keep living like they were living before, now that he had a taste of Sammy. His hand held Sam’s head right where he wanted him and he kissed him deep.

His lips were already on their way to being Sam experts, but Dean’s hands were a nervous flutter as they made their way from the back of Sam’s head, down his neck, down his back, stopping before going any lower.

“You aren’t a virgin are you?” Sam laughed pressing Dean’s buttons.

Dean slapped Sam’s ass hard and that shut him up properly. Then he let his hands drop down to Sam’s perfect, _Oh, fucking fuck, perfect_ tight little ass. He kneaded his fingers over it for awhile. Enjoyed the way it made Sam rock against him. He moved until the stiff line of him was pushing against Dean’s own desperately hard length.

Sam was bending and kissing his neck, sending hot little sparks through Dean. He raked his fingers up his back, let the material of Sam’s shirt bunch up and get pulled up around his wrist as he went all the way up Sam’s back touching everything, wanting his fingerprints all over him. He moved his other hand slowly in the other direction, all the way down until the he tucked the tips of his fingers in the back of Sam’s pants, feeling the smooth skin there. He knew every scar on Sam’s back, knew all the moles from sight, but he didn’t know any of this skin, this soft hidden flesh where his hands were venturing to now.

He rubbed his middle finger down the line of Sam’s ass, his other fingers splaying out over his sweet round muscle on either side. He let the finger dip down as far as he could let it go, barely touching, and traced it back up again. The noise that came out of Sam’s mouth sounded almost wounded, and truly beautiful. Dean couldn’t help but let his fingers do it again, pull another noise from Sam. Then another. He pushed his finger firmer against him, and this time the noise was so freaking happy, and right into his ear as Sam turned his head and nipped his earlobe.

“You like that, Sammy?” Dean asked, though the twitch and throb of Sam’s cock against Dean’s own told him everything he needed to know.

Sam just whispered his name right into his ear, let out a soft "please."

He couldn’t stop, oh the things he wanted to do to Sam. He let two fingers venture down, all the way down, and Sam spread his knees a little wider until Dean was able to touch the center of him, pressing against his sweet little hole. He was rubbing around it until Sam’s lips were pressed motionless against his neck, his open mouth letting the hot air out against Dean’s skin, but not moving, as if he forgot he was in the middle of kissing the spot, too transfixed by what Dean’s fingers were doing to him. He finally pressed down against it, just a little, just to see, and Sam pushed back against his fingers, his kisses turning wild all over Dean’s neck and face, and then his tongue in Dean’s mouth, as he began to rut himself against Dean. Dean rubbed his hole for awhile because he loved what it was doing to Sam.

“Why are we still dressed?”

Sam opened his mouth to reply, but life answered for him. They both bolted upright as they heard the back door slam.

Dean sat up and wrestled with the remote, and began flipping channels. He had forgotten where they were—had actually been so mesmerized by Sam he had actually forgot where the fuck they were. Sam just sat there smiling, zipping up, not giving a damn what the world thought.

Dean rolled his eyes and got up off the couch before Bobby walked in, at least then it would look like Sam had been watching porn on his own or something.

Sam was happy. He watched Dean scuttle into the other room and then he stretched himself out on the couch, thinking about nothing other than getting Dean naked as soon as possible. He reached for the TV remote where Dean had abandoned it, then leaned back into the pillow his brother had been laying on. He sat up quick. The pillow was gritty with sand.

 

 

_To Be Continued…_


	17. Grain Of Sand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go to sleep you little baby  
> You and me and the Devil makes three  
> Don't need no other lovin' baby  
> Go to sleep you little baby  
> Come and lay your bones on the alabaster stones  
> And be my ever-lovin' baby…
> 
> ― Gillian Welch, based on a traditional folk lullaby  
> 

When Sam came into the room that night, he flipped on the bedroom light and wedged a chair under the door handle. “Sam?” Dean asked a little groggily.

He replied with lust and hands as he rolled into the bed behind him.

Sam’s little nonsense words of love whispered right into his ear, combined with the sleep still clinging to him around the edges, left Dean with barely any sense to argue. Until Sam’s fingers moved their way down past the top of his pajama bottoms…

“Come on, Sam, not like this,” he begged tugging at Sam’s arm.

“Why not like this? I can be quiet.” Sam said the words as he kissed on Dean’s neck, the kisses making the better argument.

The thought of Sam thrashing around, trying to keep quiet, Dean’s hand over his mouth while he fucked him good and hard…god, that was hot. But no, that isn’t what he wanted for their first time…

“Because we are in Bobby’s house,” Dean said and tried to mean it. “I’m not a hundred percent yet that is why.” He was trying to play to Sam’s caring, but other than being tired, he was back to full steam and they both knew it. “Do you think you have a magical healing cock? A good fuck will fix me up?”

Sam’s returning chuckle was right up against Dean’s neck, “Maybe I do. I think it is a theory we should test out, be sure we give you all the options to help give you a speedy recovery.” He pushed in close, his body a fire of heat up against Dean’s back, his hips grinding up slowly and his fingers sinking lower. Dean could feel the hard warmth even through the jeans Sam was still wearing as it pressed against his ass. “I’ll do all the work, and I’ll be so quiet, really.”

When Dean turned his head back to argue Sam ran his tongue teasingly across the seam of Dean’s lips. Kept going until Dean opened his mouth for him. He tasted a little like whiskey and a lot like Sammy.

Sam tried to follow his mouth when Dean pulled away. He wanted to tide back the protests.

“That is just it though, I don’t want you to be quiet, Sam. And I don’t want to have to spend our first time together worried about noise. I want to get you alone, take my time, spread you out. I want you to be all mine. I want to fuck you hard and good, and my only thoughts be of you. I want you to come screaming my name.”

Saying all that out loud was not helping either of their resolves, but it did get Sam nodding furiously in agreement. His hands slid out from their pursuit and went up Dean’s side instead.

“Okay. Okay…” Sam blew out a breath against his ear. “Compromise. I want to see you.”

“What?”

“I won’t touch you but I…I want to see you naked Dean. Right now. You can’t even have an argument for that.” Sam sat up and Dean sat up with him, looking at him like he had lost his mind. He wasn’t just going to…

“Get. Naked.”

The eager expression on his brother’s face tickled Dean. “What happened to just having me was enough?” but he was smiling too big, couldn’t hold it back as he watched Sam practically thrumming with anticipation.

“It is,” Sam said and shifted nervously. “I’m going crazy, okay? You have to give me something.”

“You know I’m a guy, right? The whole ‘I have blue balls, it might kill me’ thing won’t work on me?”

Sam let out a frustrated noise. “Come on, Dean. Seriously, I need…” But Dean was already up on his knees on the bed, his shirt sliding up his body, over his head. He pulled it off slow and tossed it to the floor.

For a brief flash the lust in Sam’s eyes changed. It was more like he was inspecting him, looking for injuries after a fight.

“Everything to your liking?” Dean asked, and it snapped Sam back into the room. He looked Dean up and down, and his smile almost turned silly with happiness.

“God, Dean, you are so beautiful, you are so-”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, your turn,” Dean said cutting him off. None of that moonlight and roses stuff please.

“Huh?”

“I’m not going to just sit here naked by myself while you ogle me perv,” Dean said playfully, “It is your turn. Get your shirt off. I want to see you too.”

Sam was trying to get his shirt off so fast he was a blur of motion. He kept fumbling with the buttons then tried to just pull it over his head, his two shirts getting tangled up with each other and his hair. He wrestled them unsuccessfully before pulling them back down.

Dean pushed Sam’s hands away before Sam hulked out and just ripped it off. He unbuttoned Sam’s shirt slow, taking his time, making his little brother slow down.

Sam watched his fingers as he carefully undid each button, then looked down at Dean’s bare chest. His words of not touching were no match for the vision before him, Sam’s hand went out and barely grazed his collar bone, ran into the dip at his throat. His fingers were then running over his shoulder, down along the muscles of his arm, then back up, along his neck until his hand was cradled around Dean’s head under his ear, his thumb rubbing along his jaw, his eyes on his lips then dropping down to look him all over again. If Dean wasn’t already on his way to full hardness, feeling Sam’s eyes sweeping over him was going to get him there fast. Sam’s other hand came up and mimicked the first, a hand on each side of Dean’s face, his eyes locked on to him, saying so many things his mouth couldn’t.

Dean knew he was good looking, had enough people tell him in his life, but there was something much different in the way Sam looked at him, much different in the way it made him feel. Like something not just desired, but like something treasured. Sam wanted to equally fuck him _and_ love him.

Dean continued on getting the last of his buttons undone. Man, this shirt had a hell of a lot of buttons, he was buying Sam some t-shirts after this.

He finally pulled the outer shirt open, and Sam moved his arms out so he could tug it down and off and toss it to the floor. Then Dean pulled up his undershirt, and Sam raised his arms in the air. He pulled it slow over Sam’s body, watching the material move away and reveal everything beneath that was his now, all his. Dean let his knuckles graze the skin all the way up—he wanted to follow the material up with his mouth. And, hell, that was a great idea! He leaned forward, the shirt still covering Sam’s face, and made a quick kiss and lick up Sam’s chest with his tongue. Sam let out a surprised gasp that turned into a moan as Dean continued to trail it up Sam’s neck, holding the shirt still over his eyes as he kissed and bit at him. Dean stopped and looked, Sam’s arms held above his head, panting. Dean knew he was fucked already, he wasn’t going to be able to stop.

He tossed the shirt to the growing pile on the floor as he pulled Sammy in and kissed his perfect mouth. If someone ever invented sugar-pie-chocolate-bacon-heroin-burgers, they still wouldn’t be close to what a kiss from Sam was to Dean. He ran his hands into Sam’s hair and pushed his tongue in further, and Sam sucked on his tongue, licked at him like he wanted to fuse them together that way. Dean kept kissing him until he felt the want of Sam pumping through his veins.

He pressed them together until their stomachs were touching, their hips, their hard-ons. Dean would never tire of touching him, not in a hundred years, not in a thousand. Not in an eternity where all he did day in and day out was touch Sam. Sam’s stomach fluttered against his at the touch. He moaned into Dean’s mouth, body pushing in for more contact, more pressure, hands grasping at Dean’s shoulders. Sam’s lips were whispering pleas and prayers into Dean’s mouth as they kissed, pleas for more, prayers he wouldn’t ask him to stop.

Then it was like Sam suddenly came back to himself. Where he got the willpower from Dean didn’t know. “You gotta,” Sam was shifting, moving away, his hand pushing Dean, “You gotta move back.”

“Why? You gonna pounce on me, Sam?” Dean grinned. “You going to throw me down on the bed and not take no for an answer?”

“Maybe,” Sam said in complete seriousness as he moved towards the end of the bed and then sat back on his feet. His hand wasn’t just pressing, it was rubbing his dick through his jeans, no shame in it, flat out hard and wanting.

“God, Sammy, I like you like this, I like you wanting me. You have no idea how much I like it.”

He moved back to the head of the bed and sprawled out on his back and put his feet up, soles pressed into Sam’s thighs. He tucked his hands behind his head like he was satisfied with himself, and maybe he was. “Pull.”

Sam just titled his head like he didn’t have a clue what the word meant.

“The bottom of my pants, genius. If you want me naked you are doing the work. Pull.”

Sam looked down at Dean’s legs as Dean wiggled his toes at him. Then he swallowed and gave Dean’s long flannel PJ bottoms an experimental tug, like Dean was going to change his mind. He tugged until they were sliding over his hips, skin Sam hadn’t yet seen, not on this level, coming in to view. Dean lifted his butt into the air and then Sam yanked the pants off him so fast Dean was tugged halfway down the bed with them.

“Don’t savor the moment or anything.” Dean was laughter and Sam was nothing but dimples.

Dean was left only in his red boxer briefs, pulled tight over his fat hard cock. Sam could see just how much Dean wanted him in return. Sam’s hand sped up on himself, rubbing rough through the thick material still on him.

Seeing Sam like this suddenly made it extremely real. A jolt of panic went through Dean. All the years of fighting his want of Sam, it had to give him one last hoorah. One last guilt trip, one last, _we shouldn’t be doing this!_ He moved his eyes away, tried to think of what to say. Nothing came. Sam rubbed his hands over Dean’s leg, and gave him a lopsided smile that said I can read your mind, now stop it.

“Your turn. Strip,” Dean said, fighting off his second thoughts, and returning his eyes back to Sam’s chiseled body.

Sam’s hands went nervously to finger at the band of his jeans. The redness of Sam’s face trailed all the way down his chest. “I um, I’m not wearing any boxers,” he admitted shyly.

“Then I guess you lose this game of clothes Russian roulette.”

Sam didn’t move, he had frozen like a deer in headlights. “Come on Sammy. Let me see you,” He whispered wantonly and Sam jolted like he had just blown a fuse, but his fingers were undoing the top button. Dean dropped his eyes down to Sam’s zipper. “Show me. Show me how bad you want me.”

Sam closed his eyes, “Deeean,” he finally moaned and unzipped, pulling himself out. He was hard and heavy, “Want you, want you so bad.”

Dean didn’t even have time to lick his lips before Sam was bounding off the bed. Dean thought he was changing his mind. But then Sam stood naked, completely naked, pants pooling at his feet, whump sound of fabric hitting the ground. His porn star-worthy cock jutting towards his stomach, the swollen flesh turning shiny-wet at the tip, and Sam’s fingers wrapping around it. “See how much I want you?”

Sam was so beautiful Dean forgot all about the panic that had been building up in him just a second ago. Awe was a good word for what he felt just then.

Sam waited for Dean to invite him back in. Dean let him stand there a minute, couldn’t help it, Sam was too beautiful, he had to look at him, had to drink in his form before him. Sam looked better than any rock god, movie star, or porno ever could dream of looking just then. He was _supernaturally_ gorgeous…

He must have been staring for a long time, not speaking, as he saw Sam’s expression turn shy, uncertain, and hell no he wasn’t about to let that happen. “Sam, you are the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Fuck, you're perfect.”

The red in Sam’s cheeks went deeper. “Not perfect…”

“Perfect,” Dean corrected him. Sam dropped to the bed, slammed his mouth into Dean’s, kissing him rough and hot.

Sam put his hands on the bottom of Dean’s boxers when he pulled away, gave them a little tug before his eyes came up and met Dean’s from under long lashes. The shy question. Dean raised himself up a little, the answer. Sam kissed him again, kissed him and tugged just a little then returned his eyes to the task. Sam did this one slow, pulled his boxers down like he was revealing the greatest work of art. He huffed a laugh when Sam looked at his dick like it was just that, like it was Michelangelo’s lost work.

“Can I? Can I…? Dean, please?” Sam said with a hungry gaze.

“Yes,” Dean said to whatever it was Sam was asking, his words like liquor in Dean’s bloodstream making him too drunk on Sam to refuse anything now.

Sam laid out on him in one fast motion, nearly every inch of them touching all at once. He tucked his hands behind Dean’s back and pulling him in, kissed Dean right above his heart. It hadn’t been what Dean was expecting, it made him jump. Love surged through him as Sam kissed the spot possessively, held on to all of Dean with such intent _of this is mine. You are mine. _

Sam kissed and sucked the spot until blood pooled up under it, until there would be a mark still there tomorrow, a sign of his claim. Then he kissed up his chest, up Dean’s neck leaving a warm wet trail that his breathe cooled and tickled as he went. He leaned in and kissed his lips. Kept kissing him, even as his hands came back around and continued to touch Dean. Went lower, his fingers tips brushing over Dean’s cock. His hand wrapped around it.

Dean pulled back from the kiss, had too, it was too much, too intense. Sam had never outright touched him like that, not in Dean’s entire life of wanting it.

Dean shifted suddenly, moved Sam, tugged and pulled him, which wasn’t easy to do in the tiny bed, but soon he was against him. Dean was sitting with his back against the headboard and Sam’s back was cradled up against his chest, his big body spread out and naked between Dean’s bowlegs. Their bare legs pushed up against each other, Dean’s hard cock leaking against the small of Sam’s back, so much skin touching it is enough to get Dean off if he stopped to think about it longer than a second—so he tried not to.

“It doesn’t count as sex if we just…I said we wouldn’t have sex here,” Dean explained. “Just jerking off with an audience.”

He could feel Sam slump a bit against him, he knew Sam wanted more, but Dean really, really was trying to make their first time not here. “Bed is too small Sam, we will crack this thing in half.” Sam slumped further.

“Come on baby, show me, want to watch you, want to see you come,” Dean whispered in his ear and that perked Sam right back up.

But as Sam reached a hand for himself, Dean grabbed his wrist.

That wasn’t what Dean wanted either.

Sam let out the most pathetic noise Dean had ever heard. Like a horny kicked puppy. He was pretty sure he could bring Sam to tears if he denied him this. But that wasn’t Dean’s plan, not at all, fuck it, there was no plan any more. Sam was completely naked, and his own dick was ready to kill him if he tried to stop it. “Please,” Sam began to beg, “Oh, god, Dean, please…”

How could Dean refuse? “You want to come for me, Sammy?"

Sam moaned so loud Dean had to put his hand over his mouth. “Shh, sweetheart. I’d love you noisy. But not here, okay?”

Sam nodded, but Dean pushed his fingers into Sam’s mouth, “Yeah, maybe I need to put something in your mouth to keep you quiet?” Sam moaned his teeth scraping the skin, his whole body desperate for Dean. Sam licked at his fingers sucked them wet until Dean was nearly delirious from it. He kept the fingers of his left hand in Sam’s mouth, as his right hand started to run down his chest. Sam stilled completely then, and they both sat rapt, watching Dean’s hand moving over Sam’s body.

He ran his hand over his chest, down his stomach. Touching all his skin like he had before all those years ago, only now everything was out in the open, intent laid bare. Sam began to shiver against him. It only made Dean move slower, draw it out. He played on that line of hair that led down to heaven for forever. It made Sam bite down on his fingers, tongue at him, his hands tightening on Dean’s thighs, his cock leaking, begging. His body straining for Dean's touch.

“Shh,” He hushed him again, “Don’t I always take care of you?” Dean said and Sam stilled. He went back to lapping at his fingers with his tongue and Dean continued his slow touching, his mapping of Sam’s skin. He felt Sam give in to whatever he wanted to do to him and that was when he finally, god finally, let himself grip Sam’s gorgeous cock.

Sam let out a gasped cry as Dean dropped his hand from his mouth. He let his fingers feel the heat and velvet skin of Sam’s perfection, moving his hand over the silky head.

It wasn’t weird like he thought it might have been. It felt right. It felt exactly right. He moved his thumb back and forth running it over the slit and Sam made such a noise that Dean had to tilt his brother’s head up and look into his eyes to check to be sure he hadn’t hurt him. His eyebrows were knitted like he was in the most beautiful exquisite pain, but it was only pain in finally breaking that distance between them, of Sam finally getting what he wanted. Dean kept his eyes locked with Sam’s as he continued to grip him, his hand sliding over him up and down. Sam’s hazel eyes went somewhere adjacent to nirvana. Dean was pretty sure if anyone saw how beautiful Sam was just then, any and all sins would be forgiven him.

Dean moved his other hand, fingers wet from Sam’s mouth, over his cock getting it as wet as he could. He began twisting his hand over the crown, precum leaking down, also helping to slick the way. He stroked him fast, then faster. Sam began to get louder and Dean sealed his mouth to his and swallowed his kisses and cries.

With just a few more strokes, Dean hadn’t even found a proper rhythm yet, Sam was ready to come. Nearly two weeks of teasing, and more than ten years of foreplay before that, Sam was wound too tight for it to last. Dean finally broke the kiss, he wanted to see, wanted to watch Sam fall apart for him. Sam closed his eyes, turned his head away.

“No, baby, look. Look what I'm doing to you. Want you to see it with me,” Dean said right into his ear, pretty sure it was the most illicit request he ever made, ever felt.

He turned his eyes back and watched Dean’s hand pumping his cock. He utterly failed to be quiet as steady moans streamed out of his mouth as he looked at his brother fisting him, getting him off, about to make him come.

“Oh god, oh god, god! God!” Sam said with every down stroke of Dean’s hand, every pass of his glossy crown through the circle of thick fingers.

Tossing his head back against Dean, he just gasped out his name.

_Dean, Dean, Dean._

He bucked up into Dean’s fist and then stilled as his body released and he came hard. Dean could feel every wave of pleasure that went through Sam as his body stuttered tight up against him—could feel it in each pulse of Sam’s cock in his hand. He watched as Sam’s cum smacked against his own belly, wet lines of it. He felt the warmness as it ran down his hand. He pulled Sam through till the end, till the tiny waves and aftershocks were all that was left, and Sam sat trembling against him.

He just watched and listened to Sam’s ragged breathing for a moment as his brother slowly relaxed back into him, letting the afterglow buzz through him. Sam almost breaking instantly apart for him, shivering, did things to Dean that no actual sex had ever done for him before. Yes, watching Sam come was so much better than he’d hoped.

“God, baby, so pretty.”

There was a strand of cum connected between the tip of his cock and Dean’s index finger. He swiped it up with his finger to another moan from Sam, then he pulled his hand away from him and brought it up to his own lips.

Sam turned his head, followed the movement of Dean's hand and watched. “Oh, god, oh fuck,” he said, his hand already back on his dick at what he knew he was about to see.

Dean stuck his tongue out and pressed it against the tip of his finger. The pink of it against the line of Sam’s creamy white. He licked it up. Brought it back in and rolled it around his mouth, tasting Sam. Sam sucked in a breath as he watched, made unintelligible noises as Dean swallowed his tongue coming out and running over his lip.

Sam’s chest hitched like he was about to sob, but Dean wasn’t anywhere near finished with him.

Sam was so far gone in bliss, he couldn’t even argue as Dean brought his hand back down and tugged at Sam’s shaft, which hadn’t gone less than half-mast. He used his own come as lube.

Dean wanted Sam to come again, wanted it right now, he moved his other hand up and pinched Sam’s too orgasm-sensitive nipple between his fingers.

“Ah, Dean, too much,” Sam said as Dean continued to touch him.

“You’re mine, Sammy. All of you. Want it. Want you to keep coming until I say you are done.” Dean sealed his mouth back around his lips cutting off his cries of protest. He rubbed his too-spent-but-getting-hard-anyway cock, until Sam was lost in the pleasure again, moaning softly with each shift of Dean’s hand, each pass of his fingers. Dean stroked him for a long time, kissed him, touched him, ran his other hand to touch everything he could. Then laid it flat against his belly, pulling him in tight as he pushed his own cock against Sam’s back.

“Can’t,” Sam said, his voice breaking as Dean continued to hand fuck him, “C-can’t possibly.”

But he soon was. It's Dean's quiet rumble in his ear, “Sammy, come for me,” that finally got Sam off the second time. Dean put a hand over his mouth as Sam cried out, cried out and came. Dean just watched enraptured at the sight. In love with the fact he was making Sam come, giving him pleasure. He arched up as he lost it this time, lost it just as hard as the first, if not somehow harder. Dean stroked him through it, until the last pulses of pleasure running through him from his dick to his toes all the way to his lips, fell down Dean’s fingers, dripped over his own bare thighs. Dean pulled him close, wrapped around him, whispered how much he loved him, his own dick aching and sliding against Sam’s sweat sleek back.

A few minutes passed but Dean couldn’t stop. He wanted.  
Sam began to whimper as Dean twisted the hard nub of his nipple between his fingers, bit down on Sam’s neck. Sam dug his hands into Dean’s bare thighs that were surrounding him.

“Again, Sammy, want to see it again.”

“Ah! Ah, ah. Can’t,” Sam managed as Dean started in on him again, “Dean. _Can’t_.”

“Yes, you can,” Dean said, his grip tight and slick and hot with Sam's own come. He was pretty sure there was no way he could get him hard again, oh but he was going to try.

Dean kissed Sam’s neck, kissed his ear, kissed everything he could reach as he was still pinned behind his brother’s body.

“God, Sammy, so beautiful, so goddamned beautiful like this, always knew, but still couldn’t imagine, when you came for me, god Sam, I had no idea how beautiful you’d be,” Dean didn’t care what he said, he was too lost to it, and Sam was beautiful like this, naked and letting Dean do whatever he wanted to him. He bit his neck, sucked at the salt of his skin. Kept going, wanted it. He had always given, but right now, right now he _wanted_.

Sam practically sobbed by the time his dick obeyed Dean’s command, getting stiff again in his hand. Dean knew what he was asking, knew it felt like too much, but Sam was tough, Sam could take it. “Yeah, there we go,” Dean said. He stroked him for a long time, until Sam’s whimper cries of ‘too much’ turned into pleas of ‘not enough’. Until he was bucking up and fucking Dean’s fist, and begging Dean not to stop and cursing that it was too much all in the same breath.

“Yes, fuck yes, yes Sam, just take it for me, baby,” Dean purred in his ear. “Want to come for me?”

Sam just let out gaspy breathes, tried to nod his head. He had surrendered to Dean.

Dean watched his hand, marveled at Sam’s beautiful dark length. It was thick and perfect like the rest of him. Dean saw him unraveling, watched him come completely undone, the muscles of his abdomen bunching, his feet braced down against the bed as Dean fucked him with his hand. He was going to come again. Come again because Dean wanted him to.

Dean officially couldn’t handle any more.

He pushed Sam forward, onto his hands and knees. The bed creaking a threat to collapse under them, but let it, Dean didn’t care. He held Sam’s body up with the arm still wrapped around him, otherwise, Sam may have just gone flat down to the mattress. He was still pumping Sam’s dick as he slid his own against the tight line of Sam’s ass. There it was, that smooth ass of his little brother, which he had spent a life time trying not to think about, and thinking about anyway, and now it was there. His dick snug up against his ass, moving in a rough-start-stop motion until he could get his spit-wet fingers there to ease the way. If he had ever been this hard in his life, this ready to blow, he couldn’t recall it.

He felt the slip and slide of his dick against the cleft of Sam’s ass. He finally let go of Sam’s cock so he could sit up and pull Sam tight against him, Sam making all manner of noise now. Dean felt like his flesh and body was stripped away and he was nothing but come and love and want all over Sam. Sam bucked himself backwards as Dean moved his cock down and the head pushed up on the very rim of Sam’s hole. It was Dean’s turn to try to hold back his moaning.

Sam managed a glance over his shoulder. “Say it Dean, say it while you come.” His voice so fucked out, he was like sex itself embodied in flesh. “Call me Sammy.”

Dean went off like a gun, like violence. Or maybe it was more like a bag full of fireworks, and Sam tossed in the lighter. All he knew is he was coming hard and wet against him painting his white stripes all over Sam’s ass, his back, while he moaned out _Sammy._

_Sa-a-ammy._

Sam groaned long and dirty into the mattress from the feeling of Dean losing it all over him.

Dean’s entire body was so gone to bliss he thought he might black out. It was all so much better than he’d hoped so much better than any fantasy he ever had. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed above him, pulsing and riding the waves of orgasmic rush. But as Sam tried to turn around, it pulled Dean back and he held him in place, pushing him back down into the barely-able-to-handle-it-either mattress. Dean wanted to see it.

Sam’s breathing was speeding back up with the feeling of Dean’s eyes on him. They both knew how exposed, claimed and owned Sam was, and Dean…just wanted to see it. Wanted to see his cum all over Sam’s gorgeous ass, all over his body. It satisfied something deep and primal in him.

He leaned down and wrapped a hand back around Sam’s cock, and Sam began to gasp as Dean went back to stroking him. He had not forgotten Sam owed him a third. Dean wanted Sam to come while he was marked up, covered in his spunk. He ran his fingers of his other hand through the mess and down, pushing his cum all along the line of Sam’s ass, pushing a finger against his still virgin hole, while he fisted Sam’s dick. Sam moaned and cried, his face half buried in the mattress as Dean pushed against him, the tip of his finger slicked by his come moved in just a little as his hole gave under the pressure. Sam came for the third time as Dean got his finger further up inside him, and Sam was painting the sheets of their bed below them with whatever he had left.

Dean pulled his hand back up and rubbed Sam’s back, rubbing all his cum in against him, rubbing it into his skin while he kept hold of Sam’s still pulsing cock as it gave up the last surges of his own orgasm.

Fuck. Yes. It was so fucking erotic, so debauched, if he had an ounce of energy left he’d fuck Sam right into his own mess. Instead, he hauled Sam back up against his chest with the last of his strength.

Sam’s entire being slumped against him, completely spent. Dean had gotten everything Sam could give.

Dean held him, his own body still thrumming with afterglow and satisfaction as he nuzzled his brother’s cheek, his lips open and pressed against him, not quite a kiss, breathing warm on his skin, just holding him close. Breathing in the smell of Sam, and cum, and fuck if that wasn’t love in the air too.

Boneless was an understatement when Sam finally came back around. He turned into goo as he tried to twist to get to Dean’s lips but couldn’t barely move so just made an unhappy sound, until Dean took the hint and leaned down to give him a kiss. Dean had to stifle a laugh as he saw Sam had shot so hard he had cum under his own chin, had it streaking his cheek. He looked so gone, his eyes glazed over, his face flushed and sweaty as he smiled at Dean. Dean smiled back at him and kissed him anyway. Sam was barely able to get his lips to move, kissed him opened mouthed and sloppy humming his happiness into him, before going ragdoll in Dean’s arms again.

“Was that okay?” Dean asked.

Sam licked his lips a few times as if savoring the taste of Dean there, opened his mouth, then gave up with words and just patted Dean’s face with a smile. He closed his eyes as he leaned back against him, content.

Dean grinned and held Sam. He had fucked his brother speechless, and he hadn’t even fucked him properly yet. Dean himself was amazed how just rubbing off against Sam felt like the kinkiest, filthiest, most awesome sex he’d ever had in his life.

They both sat there for a while up against one another, slipping into little fits of sleep, too worn out to move.

Eventually Dean pushed Sam over onto his side of the bed and crawled out from under him. He grabbed up his shirt and wiped Sam down for a minute, before abandoning the effort. He knew Sam would bitch in the morning about the mess, but there was no way he was making it to the bathroom to wash up.

“Sammy, I think–” Dean began, but when he looked down, Sam was already sound to sleep. “So much for a romantic cuddle,” He chuckled. He tossed Sam’s pants over the wet spot on the bed. They were going to have to do some serious laundry at some point tomorrow when Bobby wasn’t around.

He unwedged the chair from under the door and eased it open. He knew they had made too much noise, but whatever luck there was, was smiling on them. The house was dark and quiet still. He closed the door.

Dean sat next to Sam, admiring his completely naked form as he slept. He smoothed his palms down Sam’s side. Something in him felt mended, felt whole. He had always had Sam, they were each other’s, but it was more now. It was them always and forever, promised. He almost wanted to cry. But he shook his head and ignored the chick flick moment in favor of crawling back in behind Sam and pulling the blankets up over them. He set his alarm, as this was one morning Sam was not going to be bounding out of bed and back to the couch on his own.

Sam rolled and wrapped fully around Dean, one sticky leg, one big arm over him, and pulled him in tight.

“Oh, jeeze. Seriously?” Dean said.

Sam intertwined their fingers, and himself with Dean and laid a few drowsy kisses to his face. “Mmm, love you,” his voice was a thick mix of sleep and happiness.

Dean flicked off the light.

“I know,” he said and kissed him on the forehead. “Sweet dreams.”

***

There was sand.

Sand everywhere.

Dean felt like he couldn’t breathe, like he was choking. There was a pressure on his chest.

Everything was moving slow when his eyes focused. The first thing besides the sand he saw was a moth flying above his face. Its wings were beating so slowly he could actually watch as they moved down, down, and slowly back up, little flits of dust coming off them and hovering in the air as they went.

He heard a sound next, like it was raining, pouring all around him. But he wasn’t wet. And red, there was red.

He was still choking. He coughed, couldn’t get any air. But there wasn’t any panic, more like when a person got so cold they felt warm again. Like he hadn’t taken a breath in so long, he couldn’t be bothered to care about it anymore.

Dean heard words over the sound of water, being said long and drawn out like a favorite tape he played one too many times, warped and wobbly. It seemed like an eternity fit between the sounds. He realized it was his name being said. A chill ran through him.

“Dean, wake up!” These words came faster.

The very fabric of the world suddenly seemed to be getting pulled, everything stretching towards him, sand streaming through little holes of the fabric of the darkness like hundreds of little hourglasses. Dean still couldn’t breathe, the pain burning hot in his chest.

“Wake up!”

Something was moving. He moved his head to see, to look, it took an eternity to get his eyes to go down toward his feet. It was the only thing moving fast at all, crawling towards him on the ground as he started to choke up sand, it’s body bent and twisted like a nightmare, it’s sandpaper rough hand gripped his ankle. It raised its head. Dean began to scream up sand.

“Dean!”

Dean opened his eyes wide, he sucked in a breath so hard it hurt his lungs. Sammy was just as naked and perfect as when he had fallen asleep, but now he was sitting over top of him, looking down at him.

“Are you with me?” Sam was straddling his stomach, one hand pressing on his chest. They were in the darkness of the bedroom, candle light flickered somewhere nearby.

Dean made some noise to the affirmative.

Sam leaned up, marking something across Dean’s forehead with the other hand. It was warm. He began to say strange words, softly like a lullaby. It might have been Latin, it might have been Martian, Dean couldn’t make it out either way, his mind still clogged with sleep.

Everything felt strange, like time was alternately speeding up and slowing down. His limbs felt too heavy to move.

“Sammy, what…is…happening?” Dean asked, his tongue thick, and the words were hard to get out. The bed didn’t feel soft, it felt hard and cold against his back.

Sam paused in his chant and looked down at him. The shadows from the flickering light played over the whole room, making it look strange and dreamlike. Sam kept looking over his shoulder, then off to the side. His eyes went wide as they caught something in the corner of the room. A tight expression squirmed across Sam’s face though he was obviously trying to hide it, Dean would almost say it was…fear.

Sam eyes stayed focused on the corner of the room. His hand moved warm against Dean’s cheek, anchoring him. He finally looked down at him again. “I’d rather have one day with you then a hundred without you, too,” Sam said, “I love you, Dean. You have to let me do this for you.” He leaned down and kissed him but then he pulled back abruptly.

He put his fingers up to Dean’s mouth, slid them inside. Dean smiled around his fingers for a minute, sure Sam was starting in on round two already. Nightmare or no, Dean was game for that, as it seemed his dick was more awake then he was. That was until he felt something strange in his mouth between Sam’s fingers and his tongue. Sam pulled something red out past Dean’s lips and held it up. It was a flower, its petals were the color of blood and the center was as black as a demon’s eye.

“Damn it,” Sam said, his face going long with worry. He threw the flower down.

“M’ dreaming still…” a moth flew out from seemingly nowhere, fluttering wings, white dusty little body. Dean watched it zip back and forth before heading towards the candle light.

“No one can save you, if you don't wanna be saved,” Sam said back, his voice almost angry.

The darkness of the bedroom beyond suddenly felt infinite. Dean tried to turn his head as something rustled at the edges of his vision, but Sam shook his head no and Dean stilled himself. Goosebumps prickled his flesh as a gust of warm hair moved over his feet, the candle light wavering. Something was just standing there in the darkness.

“Dean, please,” Sam said. Dean would be happy to grant requests, but he didn’t understand what it was being asked of him.

There was a sickly sweet floral smell, and a bitter taste as Sam pulled another red petaled bloom from Dean’s open mouth, then another. He could feel them appear, then slide wetly out, watched as they fell from Sam’s hands, sand clinging to them. They dropped to the sheets of the bed until he was haloed in red and dust.

Sam chanted words again, but they didn’t sound like a lullaby now, they sounded like a war cry. He continued on endlessly, until the rhythm was pounding through Dean’s head like a drum. There was an echoey voice in the room. It was saying words too, similar words, but it was fading like the hum of a once plucked guitar string, being drowned out by the urgent desperate pounding of Sam’s words. Sam reached up and wrote something across his own forehead. It was red like the flowers. He broke the chant to cry out, “You can’t have him! He is mine!”

The room went still. Then it was like the candles were snuffed out, darkness. He sunk into the bed.

Sam moved the fingers of his other hand around until he was sure there was nothing but the warm wetness of Dean’s mouth left under them. His words slowed, went soft again.

Dean’s eyelids felt heavy. He closed his eyes and sucked on Sam’s fingers. Sam replaced them with his lips. His mouth, his kiss, was like warm honey. The love in it left Dean feeling spin-y, like one too many turns on a merry go round, but in a perfect kind of way like all of Sam’s kisses did.

The heat of Sam’s body was melting into his skin everywhere it touched. He ran his fingers along Dean’s face, over his ears, over his jaw, down his neck. He leaned up and looked at Dean, kept looking him over. Like he was waiting for something. He continued the words he was chanting before. So many more words, but Dean couldn’t focus. They began to bleed into one long soft tone, a hum.

Sam sat like that for a long time, watching over him. Dean couldn’t take his eyes off of Sam’s naked form as the light flickered over the muscled lines of him. His arms felt both weighted down and floaty at the same time as he brought one hand up to move his fingers through the lights dancing on his brother’s skin. Sam was warm, his skin soft over muscle that was so hard and strong. He dropped his hand lower. Because to Dean’s mind, if this is a dream it should be of the wet variety.

Sam shook his head and moved Dean’s hand away from where it was fumbling at his nakedness. “Go to sleep, Dean,” he said affectionately. Sam lay out next to him, still watching, his hand was soothing soft circles through his hair.

Dean smacked his lips sleepily. “Sex,” he mumbled.

“What?” Sam asked.

“If this is a dream, there should be more sex.”

Sam might have laughed, he might have cried. Dean wasn’t sure.

Everything felt warm and safe. He let himself go back to sleep, or was it stay asleep? He wanted to be saved. If Sam wanted to save him. Whatever that meant.

***

“Rise and shine, Sammy!” Dean said before the sun was up the next morning, laying a smack right on Sam’s ass.

Sam kept his face buried in his pillow, but his middle finger raised in reply. Dean chuckled and pressed a kiss against Sam’s temple. He worried Bobby would wake up before him and notice Sam sleeping in the bed, but as long as Dean wasn’t in there, he could assume they had just switched off for the night and Dean had rode the couch. So he hopped up and left the room.

He took a deep breath, he felt good. _Really good._ He felt…happy.

He decided it was his turn to make breakfast. He wanted waffles. He looked down at his hands, they were tacky, and the fabric of his boxers was sticking to his skin, he wasn’t going to even acknowledge the dry crust up his abdomen. And for some reason he felt gritty in weird places, like he had been to the beach. Something nagged at his mind then, but it flitted away on fast wings as quick as it had come. Dreams forgotten to a waking mind. So, definitely a shower first…

Sam slept for another hour while Dean showered, dressed and headed back out to the kitchen. He had never used a waffle iron, but he had skills, he could figure it out.

Sam emerged freshly showered just about the time the last of the waffles was hitting the stack on the plate. Dean was alternately humming and singing Bad Company’s Can't Get Enough as he finished making breakfast. Sam leaned up against the kitchen table. Dean didn’t need to turn around to know he was being watched fondly. Dean could feel the love wafting off his brother like the scent of the strawberry shampoo he had just used. He smiled down at the cast iron skillet he was scrambling eggs in, smiled even bigger as Sam walked up from behind and hugged his hands around his waist and laid a kiss against his head. It was girly, he should…fuck, he didn’t care, it felt great. He let Sam love on him as much as he wanted, kiss his neck all the way around from one side to the other, hands squeezing him in tight.

“God, I love you,” Sam said.

Dean gave the eggs one more shove with his spatula, then turned and took the opportunity to kiss an _I love you too_ into Sam’s minty fresh mouth before the risk of Bobby coming in got to high.

Sam looked tired when Dean pulled back.

“You all right?”

“Dean, I wanted to…” Sam started to say something. There was a sadness in his eyes as he traced a finger down Dean’s face. But then he just gave a firm nod and a smile. “You wore me out ‘s all.”

Dean kissed him and petted a hand through Sam’s still shower damp hair, and Sam let his hands fall down Dean’s body and pulled him in close until they both knew if they were in their own place one or the other of them would be bent over the kitchen table getting fucked for breakfast. Instead, they kept kissing, and kissing, and kissing. And…just let the eggs burn.

Luckily, Bobby was a loud stomper as he came down the stairs. Dean flipped back around to the stove and Sam got the orange juice out of the fridge and sat down at the table. Bobby joined them and said his good morning just as Dean was piling everything he had cooked in front of them both. A leaning stack of waffles to make the Tower of Pisa jealous, bacon, sausage, some sliced up strawberries and peaches for Sam, three mugs of coffee. And some slightly burnt eggs.

Sam talked like nothing between them had changed, like crossing the line into sex didn’t make the slightest difference. Though, he did smile a lot more. Dean could live with that.

Sam took big chugs of coffee, then shoveled in an entire handful of strawberry at once. Bobby looked even more tired than Sam, he was unshaved and unshowered, and the phones were already ringing. So he loaded up his plate and got up. “Agent Willis speaking,” He said as he left the room, ever busy.

Dean watched Sam eat, he was packing it away this morning.

“I love you,” Sam said again staring at his plate.

“Love you too,” Dean finally said back and Sam grinned big at him.

“I was talking to the waffles.” But then he was leaning across the table to give Dean a quick syrupy kiss that said otherwise.

Dean was sure the waffle tower would still be standing somewhat, but Sam demolished it. Would probably eat an entire truckload of waffles when they actually…

“Find us a case,” Dean said abruptly. Sam had a big mouthful of waffle going when he looked up at him.

Sam frowned a little as he swallowed. He chased another bit of waffle around his plate with his fork. “Shouldn’t we take some time off? You know, a week to ourselves wouldn’t…”

Dean smirked, eyebrow raised. “Sammy, find us a case _to tell Bobby about._ ”

The second the understanding hit him Sam’s fork hit his plate and he bolted out of the room after his laptop.

Dean grinned and took a big swallow of orange juice and made lazy work of his waffles. Yep. He felt good.

He had never seen Sam work so hard so fast as he looked for a convincing semi-real, at least something worth checking out, kind of, case to get them back out on the road. The only time he paused in his efforts was when Bobby left for town. Then he was sitting on Dean’s lap, kissing him hard, tugging Dean’s hand down the front of his jeans. Dean would tease loose fingers along the head of Sam’s perpetually hard dick, but wouldn’t give him what he wanted. “Find us a case!” Dean said panting, rocking up into him.

Sam found them a case thanks to the fine useless folks at Hellhoundslair.com. Possible, but very unlikely, vengeful spirit. He celebrated it by whispering all the dirty things he wanted to do to Dean in his ear. All the ways he was going to fuck him, suck him, all the ways he was going to…

When Bobby arrived back home. They thanked him for letting them stay so long, Dean filling him in with all the possible details of a case assuring him that “yes, he was well enough now,” and “of course, they would call and keep him informed.” Then they packed their gear in record time and they were out. And good lord, not one minute too soon.

Bobby waved, but then rolled his eyes as he watched them drive off. _Them boys thinking they had been fooling anybody._ He smiled. “Idjits.”

 

 

_To Be Continued…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time my muse leaves me I tempt him back by coming and looking at your comments. I’m pretty sure this story would have died half way through without them, so thank you to everyone talking to me!
> 
> Also… I began to write a side piece to this called “You Ain’t Foolin’ Anybody, Idjits” Where we saw Bobby’s point of view over the last 2 weeks. It was mostly him walking in on Sam and Dean. Like seeing Sam wedged up against the counter, Dean between his legs, in a kiss that would make even Don Juan blush and wishing to wash his eyes out with bleach and holy water. How he learned to slam doors and stomp down stairs like a herd of elephants as warning. And yeah, invest in some ear plugs on that last night. Ha! I thought it pretty funny but guessed you’d rather have the next chapter of this than me spending time on that. But I thought I’d share the idea anyway so you could at least picture Bobby’s scandalized face with me and laugh.


	18. Never Never Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  I see your face before me  
> Crowding my every dream  
> There is your face before me  
> You are my only theme  
> It doesn't matter where you are  
> I can see how fair you are  
> I close my eyes and there you are  
> Always  
> –Johnny Hartman
> 
>  

  


♡♡♡

That old familiar squeak of the door and then Dean was sliding into the driver’s side of the ‘67 Impala. The seats were sun warmed and the engine purred.

_Damn, it felt good to be behind the wheel again._

Sam folded his big body and climbed into the passenger side, bumping his head in haste. He glanced at Dean, who couldn’t help but rev the engine a little and give a wink.

“You are an epic dork,” Sam said, with _I love you_ wrapped clearly around it.

He bent down and pushed in the tape that had been sticking out of the deck. “Back in Black” came pouring out of the speakers. Dean nodded his head. It was fitting. He hit the gas. They turned left out of Bobby’s place, Bobby giving a wave seen in the rearview mirror, and they headed south.

Baby hugged the turns like the lady she was, mile markers flying past as they made their way down interstate 29. Dean was unable to stop looking over at Sam, unable to keep the smile off his face even if he wanted to. Sam was looking right back every time, his own smile wide and carefree, full of life and energy. He rolled down the window and let the fresh spring air fly in and toss his hair about.

Soon they had driven out of Sheriff Jody Mill’s district, out of Sioux Falls, out past where anyone should know them…see them…care. It was a straight flat shot most of the way, nothing but corn fields and hay bales on either side of the two-lane blacktop. Towns going by that we're nothing more than a gas station and a stretch of the legs as far as they were concerned. It was like the familiarity of the best old times, with all the possibilities of the new filtering in. Sam talked, and Dean, no longer having to worry about his real thoughts escaping, talked openly in return. They laughed a lot. They sang along to the songs they both knew by heart. They flirted. Sam held his hand.

Happiness was not a feeling Dean was accustomed to. Especially the kind that can’t be bought, not in a bottle or a bar, not even with your very soul. This was the kind of happiness most people spent their entire lives trying to find. Sam, the Impala, music and the road... all handed back to him with the addition of all his wildest dreams.

Dean was _happy._

The afternoon sun was slowly starting to turn into an orange evening blaze to their west. The light filtered through Sam’s window and painted him a halo. Sitting there in the passenger seat, he looked…ethereal. Maybe Dean was just getting sentimental. Yeah, okay, so he was going full flaming sentimental, but that is what this happiness business does to you.

Another tape soon reached its end and whirred as it rewound.

He wanted the end credits to roll now too. Wanted to ride off into the sunset with his Sammy, a big fat happily ever after written on the screen. Find some little place warded against the world, and do nothing for the rest of his life but make Sam smile.

“So,” Sam said snapping Dean out of reverie. “When are we exiting exactly?” Sam shifted closer so that their knees were touching. Jeans against jeans.

The possible, but very unlikely, vengeful spirit was still a good drive off.

“A hundred miles more will put us right at halfway,” Dean said, but his resolve was already getting broken down for that inch of contact between them. Yeah, Dean knew they wouldn’t even make it another twenty. Sam slid across the bench seat all of two seconds after that thought went through his mind.

He paused and looked at Dean, as if checking to make sure. Dean raised his arm and tucked it around Sam’s shoulders. He pulled him in close, fingers smoothing over the fabric of Sam’s dusty blue flannel shirt as Sam laid his head against him. He smelled good, like fresh laundry and the faint spice of his aftershave.

“I am thinking the next exit…” Sam said.

Dean hadn’t noticed when the tape had started playing again, but Sam wrinkled up his nose at James Hetfield’s voice, pulling away to hit eject. The tape popped out and he tossed it back into the box of tapes under the seat.

“Seriously, how many times do I need to tell you to update your music?” He asked as he leaned forward and fished something out of the glove box.

“House rules, Sammy. Driver picks the music and shotgun…you know what shotgun does?” Dean said, but smiled around the words, knowing full well that wasn't going to fly anymore.

Sam looked at him sideways, a little smirk coming out, an eyebrow raised. “You want to shut my cakehole for me?”

Dean stuttered at the visuals that brought to mind. Sam pushed in the jack to his iPod, very suggestively, hitting play before Dean could complain about him douching up his car.

The screen lit up with the playlist title “S/D”. A deep throaty female voice began singing something a little too modern, a little too sappy, something that any other day Dean would have ragged on Sam about endlessly. But not today. And if it put a smile on Sam’s face like the one he was wearing now, not ever again either.

“I was trying to be patient but a hundred miles is too far.” Sam crowded in closer. His fingers slid up Dean’s shirt, stopping a moment at the amulet around his neck and held it. It was warm in his hand. He let it fall from his fingers and laid his palm flat against Dean’s chest.

"So if you won’t pull over…”

His hand dropped straight down and gave Dean's unsuspecting cock a squeeze. The touch was still so unfamiliar and so surprising it nearly sent them off the road completely. Startling some cows and kicking up some gravel that hit the undercarriage of the car, Dean quickly righted them back onto the highway to Sam’s amused laughter.

That was the limit Dean could take.

Dean turned the wheel so hard to make the next exit that Sam nearly fell off the seat. It was Dean's turn to laugh. But Sam clambered back up and smiled, pleased with himself at having broken Dean’s willpower with such little effort.

They turned left on the exit ramp only to find what seemed to be miles and miles of woods on either side of them.

 _Son of a bitch,_ Dean thought at first when he realized he had made the turn onto a scenic drive, not a place spotted with hotels and motels to the horizon. He was just about to yank the wheel and floor them back to the highway when he saw the sign for “Lewis and Clark Lake”.

Turning the corner was breathtaking. You know, if you are into that romance sort of thing.

"Wow," they said in unison.

The sunset was now in full swing. Swirls of pinks, golds, and vivid oranges pressed against lavender clouds filling the sky. The colors danced over the calm water of the lake until it was hard to tell where the heavens stopped and the earth began. Tall grasses waved on the rolling hills and ran down to meet the white chalk bluffs that dropped to patches of sandy beach or rocky banks of the lake. The best part was it looked as if they had located paradise before anyone else. It seemed deserted, no one in view as far as their eyes could see. A lover’s lane all their own.

_Well hell, he couldn’t have planned that better if he tried._

“That was…lucky,” Sam echoed the sentiment.

This was right. Their first time shouldn’t be in some hotel, no matter how swank, it should be here, with the roof and four doors of the only place they had both called home their whole lives.

Sam pinched Dean's nipple somewhere between playful and lustful and Dean's foot sunk on the gas. He drove around the lake taking the turns too fast as Sam resumed kissing his neck, his fingers making their way south at a slower pace this time, rubbing at the hardening outline in denim.

He looked down various roads as they drove, trying to find the right spot. The perfect spot. Because if anyone interrupted them, well, Dean would probably have to shoot them. He wasn’t sure if he was joking.

He saw a dusty and rusted metal sign that read “Olore Malle Lane” in faded red lettering. The dirt road looked less welcoming than the rest had been, with thick trees closing in on either side. This was a good thing as it would mean a less travelled path in the already quiet spot.

He drove down the road with the sound of Sam’s heated breath in his ears, “I want you. So bad.” Until he found a secluded place in a recess amongst the trees, like it was carved out just for them, just for this.

The sun and the water could be seen down the embankment below, but unless you were out in the water looking up, they were well hidden from prying eyes.

Dean cut the engine, leaving Sam's music to play on. He opened his door and got out. The forest around them smelled of pine and damp fresh earth, dotted with something sweet and floral. He moved around to Sam’s side of the car where his brother was just getting his door opened.

"Dean, I wa-"

Dean cut him off, hauling Sam to his feet, shoving him against the car and kissing him hard.

Sam got with the program fast, his hot tongue urging Dean's lips apart. He circled his tongue with his own, pushing in deeper, pulling Dean’s hair, tugging at him, trying to somehow get him closer than the human body would allow. Sam wanted more, more, more-

Kissing Sam was still the best thing on god’s green earth.

Dean kissed everything he could reach, Sam's neck, his chest, caressed his… _clavicle? Why do I even know that word?_ He shook it off and bit at Sam’s shoulder, liking the idea of him marked up and still feeling it tomorrow. Sam's hands squeezed his ass.

He couldn’t get to Sam’s skin fast enough so he pulled at the material, buttons of the flannel unsnapping, his white undershirt stretched to ripping, hands sliding underneath.

“Naked,” Dean said breathlessly.

Sam wasted no time on a reply. His shirts were discarded in seconds, his shoes flung far, his socks gone.

Dean wrapped his arms around him as he went for his jeans, stilling him, soaking up his desire. He let Sam's soft hair brush against his face as he leaned in, hand flicking open the top button with his thumb.

“Tell me,” he said. He kissed the curve of Sam’s ear, “Tell me what you want Sammy.”

“Everything!”

“Nah, too easy. Say it, tell me.”

Sam’s face flushed with realization of what Dean wanted. Wanted to hear the words from Sam’s lips of what they were about to do, what he wanted first.

Sam leaned forward and brushed his face back and forth against Dean’s forehead, nudging, moaning, begging with his body as if he was so undone he couldn’t get the words out.

“You suddenly too shy to ask me for what you really want? Because I am pretty sure since we left Bobby’s you’ve been staring at my mouth...”

Sam pushed his palm against himself with a low moan. Dean knew he had him twisted up inside then, it was the way he liked Sammy now.

“You sure you aren’t dying to push me down, see my mouth stuffed full of your pretty cock?”

Sam's hands unconsciously pressed down on Dean’s shoulders. “Yes, yes!”

“That is what I thought,” Dean grinned. “Say it. Seriously, I want you to.”

Sam looked at Dean’s lips, before meeting them with the hard crush of his own mouth. He didn’t hesitate a second now, but growled out against his lips, “I need to come in your dirty fucking mouth, Dean, I _need_ to!”

Dean kissed him in satisfaction. The teasing was done now…

He put his hands on Sam’s biceps, felt how strong he was, the flex of them as Sam pushed his shoulders, and Dean went down for him. He let his hands run the full length of Sam’s body, goose bumps popping up under his touch. He laid a few hot kisses along the way, down the middle of his bare chest, his stomach.

His knees hit the ground kicking up a little dust, his ass resting against the heel of his boots. He slid Sam's belt out of the loops with two tugs, undid his jeans for him. That line of hair that vanished into his clothes, the mere sight of which had gotten Dean off in the past, was now under his lips. He got his fingers around his jeans and the soft material of his boxers and pulled them both down his long legs at once, Sam kicking them off when they reached his feet, not giving a damn where they landed.

Sam stood naked over him, no shame. The setting sun's fading orange light played over the landscape of his heavily muscled body like a candle's glow, making him look golden and unearthly.

He leaned back against the car, hips jutting out, arms stretched out to either side across the black roof of the Impala, thumbs hooked into the open windows like Dean was about to flip the world around and he needed to hang on. His big cock was already good and hard and pearling wetness at the pink tip in excitement at the mere sight of Dean on his knees for him.

Sam was so gorgeous that looking at him made Dean ache.

His gun hand went around the base of Sam's shaft. His other hand came up to push against Sam’s hip, keeping him pinned against the car as he began to stroke him.

"Been dying to get my mouth on you," Dean said, butterflies in his stomach but voice cocksure, licking his bottom lip, "years, and years."

Sam closed his eyes with a moan, body already moving forward under Dean's pushing hand.

He waited until Sam got a hold of himself enough to look back down, meet his eyes.

Without breaking eye contact, he leaned forward pressing the flat of his tongue against him fully, licking Sam's cock in one long slow swipe upwards, ending with a push against his wet slit.

“Ohohohgod _fuck_!” Sam breathed out in a rush, he had been holding his breath. Dean chuckled a little, that breaking away any bit of tension he was feeling. It was just his Sammy after all, and he wanted to make him feel good.

He pressed his mouth to the velvet soft skin of the head, going slow to let Sam enjoy the moment of his cock finally pushing past Dean's lips and in. His tongue slid against the underside of him and he swirled it around those first inches.

Sam said something that no doubt started off as a word but fell into moans of utter enjoyment. A cry of happiness.

Dean relaxed and took more of Sam, filled his mouth. His eyes fell closed and he let out his own groan of pleasure over it. Sam’s flesh was blood hot and thick in his mouth, so thick. The earthy-salty-sweet taste and the deep heady scent of Sam flooded his senses. He moved his mouth up and down his brother’s length, his hand covering what his mouth couldn't possibly fit. His other hand still pushed Sam against the car, but he let it roam up over his body, fingers getting lost in the groove of his hip. All the fantasies he had about doing this, dwelling on it until near madness…god, reality was so much better.

"Fuck, Dean," Sam panted, "I wish you could see this.” Sam was lost deep in lust and sensation. His hand came down to rest on the back of Dean's head.

It was an absurd kind of compliment, but Dean knew exactly what he meant. The view from where he was, was damn hot too, Sam looking down at him, cheeks flushed and brow furrowed in bliss.

Dean’s own dick was throbbing hard between his legs. He managed to get his zipper down and pulled it out and stroked it for Sam’s viewing pleasure, letting him know how much he was enjoying himself. He could feel Sam's cock twitch against his tongue in response, and his own hips jerked up into his fist. But his own pleasure would wait, right now every ounce of focus was on giving to Sam. He picked up the pace as he took him all the way down, messy, wet, and hot.

Sam’s voice went from low moans to racked with pleasure in minutes as Dean sucked him off, with loud long cries that echoed back at them from the woods, sending birds flying from trees.

Dean had him undone in less than five minutes, not bad for his first time.

He could feel Sam riding the edge. Sam wanted it fast and rough, which he was being given, but Dean knew Sammy better than even he knew himself. Knew he had been waiting a long time, years of aching desire for this, and Dean wanted to make it worthy.

He forced him to hang on, kept Sam there, pushed right to the brink, again and back, until he was begging. Dean might have been the one on his knees but they both knew who was running this show. So he gave him more, took him higher, kept it up.

He moved his left hand to caress Sam's balls, full and heavy with their denied release. He gave them a gentle tug.

"Please!" Sam's fingers twisted into the strands of Dean's short hair. His skin so tight now, so ready to come.

Dean massaged his fingers against him, sucked him harder, faster in reply. _Like a challenge_.

With sudden clarity, Sam finally understood. It was like Dean was tossing him the car keys and letting him drive, saying they were equals in this thing. Dean was giving him what Sam always wanted in life: control. And Dean.

And Sam took it.

He wrapped his fingers of both hands now tighter in Dean's hair, knocking his pushing hand away from him. Sam took exactly what he wanted, Dean's unswerving love and his hot mouth at once.

He pushed himself against Dean's cheek and rubbed outside with his thumb, feeling himself inside Dean to his satisfaction.

“You’re so perfect,” Sam said.

He pressed it obscenely against his cheek until his dick popped out of Dean's mouth completely. He ran his thick head against Dean's pouted lips until they were wet with precum.

"Stick your tongue out, Dean," The fantasy-familiar request was met before the sentence was finished. Dean moaned, fucking loving it. Sam held his cock, running the head against his tongue, feeling the slide of it against him. Then he pushed back in and fucked Dean's beautiful mouth.

Dean continued worshiping Sam’s body on his knees, more fervent then the most devout saints ever prayed. Until Sam too sounded like he was praying “God Dean, God Dean,” tugging his hair bucking forward thrusting into Dean's willing mouth. "God! Dean!" Amen.

With a flash of green eyes up to watch him, tongue working magic, Dean managed, even with his mouth full of Sam’s cock, a smirk. Sam finally lost it.

He went over the edge, over every edge, until he was coming, screaming, flooding Dean’s mouth. One hand slammed back against the roof of the Impala to keep him upright as everything rushed out of him and into Dean, threatening to take him to his knees with the sensations of the best orgasm he had ever known.

"Mine," Sam growled and pushed into his mouth further, his voice almost sending Dean over the edge with him. "God, Dean."

Sam's fingers didn't release their grip on Dean, even after the last of his cum spilled hot filling his mouth. He held him there, watching Dean take it. Held him and pushed in a little until Dean swallowed around him, drank down all that Sam had given him. Sam shivered at the feeling of Dean's throat swallowing around his too sensitive flesh, swallowing his cum, humming enjoyment. It purged all those needs in Sam, all the control he had been after and denied, all the want-and-couldn't-have, the jealousy that the years had built up inside him, washed clean. He slumped.

Carding his fingers gently through Dean's hair, he let the afterglow thrum down and fade warmly in his belly.

Dean closed his eyes satisfied that Sam was happy, he rose slowly to his feet, taking him into his arms. Sam kissed him.

"Hot, Sammy," Dean's voice was sex roughed, Sam's cock giving a futile attempt to rally back to hard at the sound of it. He opened the passenger side door and tugged Sam back into the front seat against him.

"I thought for a minute there you were going to kill me, but what a way to go," Sam laughed looking like he was going to pass out now. He sat quiet for a moment, fingers idly touching the inner seam of Dean's jeans.

Dean was diamond hard with the taste of Sam still in his mouth, but he was good as long as Sam was happy. He went to turn the keys and get them back on the road but Sam stopped him. He didn’t fall asleep as Dean predicted, but he was up pulling at the clothes Dean was still wearing. Surprised, Dean raised his arms. Sam got him out of his clothes so fast he might as well have snapped his fingers like in his fantasies. Leaving him naked in the front seat but for his amulet.

“You are always taking care of me. Let me take care of you for once,” Sam said, tossing one leg over Dean. “Let me.”

Letting Sam do this would leave Dean vulnerable, something he rarely was with anyone. But Sam was beyond his barriers now. He nodded his head.

Dean felt a bit like a gawky, fumbling adolescent, nervous and awkward in a way he had never been before. It was a small space too and they were two big men after all, which added to it. Dean had one hand on Sam’s back and one against the frame of the door. Sam's knee wedged into the vinyl as he shifted his full weight into Dean's lap and inadvertently struck the horn with a misplaced elbow. The blaring of the horn was loud in the peaceful woods. They both froze a moment...before busting out in laughter.

Sam kissed Dean with amusement still on his lips, brushed fingers over his smiling cheeks. It was just right, as is, because it was them. Not some polished, details-left-out dream but the imperfect perfection that was the two of them in the front seat of the Impala, Dean's ultimate fantasy.

Sam leaned over and pulled up the lever reclining the seat back, giving them more room. He put both hands against Dean's chest as he settled naked in his lap. He circled the hardening skin of his nipple with one finger.

"I think, ya know, there is prep work needed here first," Dean said.

"What? All the pain we go through and you think I can’t handle a little penetration?"

"A _little_?"

Sam choked a bit and they both laughed again, easy with each other.

“Actually, I-I got myself ready for you back at Bobby’s," Sam said, then his voice went deep with need, "I’m ready for you, Dean.”

The mental image that brought up of Sammy, spread open, fingers pushing into his slick hole, him desperate to get open for Dean was too much. Dean closed his eyes and laid his head back against the seat with a groan for how hot that was. He added 'watch Sammy fuck himself open with his fingers' as another item on his ever growing mental to-do list now. But with the lack of space and how nervous he felt, he was happy to check that one off later.

There was a tear of foil and he felt Sam’s hand, wet with lube, encircle him, rubbing his cock down between their bodies. Sam got so into the feeling of his slicked up cock pushing between his fingers Dean thought they wouldn't make it to the main event. He gave Sam silent props for going as long as he did before. This alone was too much hotness for him already.

“Easy tiger,” Dean chuckled, “I want this to last.”

Sam's smiling mouth went to licking at Dean's upturned jaw as he shifted himself forward. Dean tried not to whimper as he felt the crease of Sam’s ass against his cock, felt warm skin as it slowly trailed up and down as Sam moved. Then his tight opening was lined up, pushing against him, that small feel of give. He felt like his heart was going to beat right out of his chest.

Sam’s eyes focused on Dean then. They were so intense, so filled with emotion, Dean had to close his.

It was surreal. All of it. Sam in his lap, Dean's hands on Sam’s body, the expanse below his thumbs as Sam breathed in and out. Johnny Hartman's voice crooning on about love over the speakers as Dean finally understood all those silly love songs in an instant.

When he opened his eyes again, Sam smiled and eagerly pressed down against him. The head of Dean’s cock pushing up inside him.

"Oh!" Just like that he was inside Sam. He was inside Sam. His Sammy. A warm rush of pleasure overwhelmed him.

They didn't speak, only kissed, moaned, gasped, as Sam took Dean's cock, every inch of him sliding slowly up into his perfect ass. Until Dean was filling him up completely, Sam's body resting flush against Dean's shaking thighs.

He was so tight, so fucking hot inside, muscles gripping Dean, every word and thought was pressed from him except...

"Sammy." The only word that could never be taken away.

Sam moved in a slow rhythm rocking in his lap, each move sending sparks through Dean, little flashes behind his closed eyelids.

"S' it okay?" Dean asked, voice shaking with the rest of his body to get the words out as he stroked Sam's sides.

But Sam was more than okay. He was in awe. He shifted his legs and hips, hands holding onto the back of the seat and moved faster. "I can't believe we are finally...yes!" He cried, Dean's cock hitting the right spot inside him. "You’re so damn big. It feels good. Jesus, Dean, it feels so good."

Sam gave him a deep kiss followed by a deep thrust down with his body, leaving Dean to gasp against his mouth, Sam licking at the cries he made. He was soon writhing in pleasure, split open on Dean's cock, loving the burn of being stretched so tight.

Sam's dick was back to fully hard, pressing between them. Dean moved his hand to touch him but Sam pulled it away, placing it on his shoulder.

"Want to come just like this," Sam said pulling up slow then driving Dean's dick deep inside him. "Want to come from only you inside me. Let me," he repeated.

Dean moaned, obeyed, and let Sam give him this, take care of him. Nothing needed from him but to enjoy. He admired the view of Sam riding him, the feel of him grinding his ass down on his cock. The ends of his long hair getting damp with perspiration and curling at his neck from the effort.

Sam looked deep into Dean's eyes. He knew Dean better than he knew himself too. He knew what Dean wanted and couldn't ask for. He just needed the courage to do it. Wanted to do it so badly, and hoped for once that Dean wouldn't shut him down for trying.

Without slowing, Sam put one hand over the amulet, their amulet, which hung on the center of Dean’s chest.

The gesture wasn't lost on Dean. It had long been a symbol of their love. It helped keep Dean going even through the darkest days, knowing Sammy was there. It helped Sam to know he was loved even when things between them had been rough. And now here they were, in love, making... love.

Tears welled up in Dean’s eyes and Sam went blurry in his vision.

He bit down on his lip. No sir, no he was so _not_ going to cry his way through sex. But then Sam put one hand on his face, the other still on the amulet. Dean leaned into the touch. Closed his eyes and leaned into Sam’s loving hand held against his cheek, sure that he had never been loved by anyone that had touched him until this moment. He could feel it shake something loose in him.

Monsters and demons Dean could handle, but letting someone show him affection as much as he genuinely wanted them to. Or worse, showing all his love to someone without shame, that was terrifying.

But there was Sam, not even holding back a little. He was cherishing Dean to the full, unrepentant, unrestrained, until his own kiss was salty wet.

"I love you." Not said mockingly. Not in a joke. "I love you." Not with beer clouding their systems so it could be denied later. Not said with a near death miss hanging over them. Not even said in lust. Said naked, laid bare, pure. "I love you, Dean."

Dean took a breath and let it go. He wrapped a hand around the back of Sam's neck, pulling him in. His eyes were still more dazzling than the best the sun could do, contained more colors than Dean was sure existed in the world.

“No one has ever," Sam's words hitched as his body bucked up in pleasure, "loved anyone more than I love you."

The lock on the final door he didn’t even know was closed off inside him, fell away. Sam poured his love into all those secret places and wounds until they dissipated and blew away like smoke in an open sky.

A single tear rolled down Dean's face to mingle with Sam's as he kissed him.

"I love you more than anything," Dean said in return. It was fact. Simple and true.

His arms enveloped Sam, pulling him closer. The pace slowed, but somehow it felt more fiery. Sam moved with a relentless kind of pleasure, so good it almost hurt in its intensity. An aching ecstasy, until they felt every caress of skin all the way in their blood. It was less an act of sex and more a joining of souls via the flesh, like they were trying to fuse themselves back together as one spirit where the gods had wrongly split them.

Being inside Sam like this, Dean felt whole.

Sam continued to curl his loving attention around him, which made Dean gasp and arch as much as the perfect friction on his cock did. Dean started rocking up helplessly into the heavy weight of Sam, everything feeling too good to bare.

"I love you so much, Dean."

"Keep k-keep saying it."

"I love you, Dean."

"Again, again, tell me you're mine."

The amulet felt like it was burning hot between them…

"Fuck, I love you. Dean, g-god, yes," the way he could feel Dean pulse from deep inside him was too much, he cried out, "yours! I am yours! Always was! I love you-" Sam's body could take no more. His head thrown back, his whole body tight.

_“Dean!”_

With the cry of his name Sam came untouched body clenching tight around his cock. Seeing it, feeling it ripped the orgasm from Dean, his hips bucking, lifting Sam up off the seat, driving himself as deep inside him as this mortal existence would allow. His body froze in pleasure, with only the twitch of his contracting muscles and the hard pulsing of his cock as he came inside Sam.

Everything went white and fell together.

All the little broken pieces of themselves coming together, mended, arranged until they were one, hinged and bound to one another, no matter when they separated physically again. It felt like there was no other life or love underneath the sky but theirs. Their bond was immortal.

Dean belonged to Sam. Sam belonged to Dean.

The last waves of his orgasm shook Dean back to earth, still deep inside of Sam, pulsing wet and hot. He let out a cry with the last hard thrust.

He wasn’t sure the human body was built for this kind of euphoria, in fact he is pretty sure he fried some synapses, destroyed his pleasure centers, overdosed on dopamine. Dean opened his eyes, suddenly disoriented and lightheaded, the pleasure Sam gave him leaving his every atom tingly.

Sam too seemed in a loopy state of satisfaction, laying spent against his chest saying “wow” and laughing out “Dean”. He leaned back and honked the horn on purpose this time, in celebration. He was a truly well-fucked man.

Which didn’t stop them from climbing in the backseat ten minutes later and giving in to round two. And three.

***

_“Dean.”_

The whisper woke Dean with a start.

Sam’s iPod was still playing, an embarrassing song now with two asshats going on about “Crazy Love”. Their voices skipped a few times, went to static as the dome light of the car flickered. Then everything evened out.

He sat quietly and listened. Gun within reach.

There was only the song and the sound of Sam’s soft breathing.

Dean was upright, his shoulders against the far door, a warm weight blanketing him. Sam had flopped against him in the backseat after he had come again, origami-folding his gargantuan body up to fit in the small space, and had fallen instantly to sleep. He was still dozing, his eyelids twitching as he dreamed.

Dean swiped the back of his hand against the fog on the car window. He watched the last shreds of twilight’s glow turn into darkness, the pale moon peeking out from behind clouds like a sinister grin. The woods around them that seemed earlier to welcome and cradle their love, now seemed foreboding in the gloom.

They were the two best hunters in the world, sitting in a car with every possible type of supernatural killing weapon in the trunk. And probably enough salt from the French fries alone dropped throughout to stave off any ghosts. As far as safety went, they were better off than most. But he couldn’t shake the feeling.

He closed his eyes. Wanted to pretend that his father’s warnings weren’t echoing in his thoughts right then, but the doubt crept in and wiggled around his brain.

His thoughts drifted to their many enemies, their kills, all the possibilities of what could be lurking out there. Then finally his thoughts went to the last kill, the sandman. But the monster was dead. Sam had pulled him out and lopped his ugly soulless head clean off. Another belly crawling piece of trash down. Sam shifted a little in his lap and Dean smoothed a hand over his hair and ran it soothingly down his back. Sam had saved him. Sam had saved him from everything, not just monsters. He kept him human in this life. Sam had a great big vast story, but Dean's story was Sam. He was the reason he didn't give up, the reason he kept fighting. Yes, Sam saved him every day. That thought tickled up some memory that was trying to rise to the surface.

_He wanted to be saved, whatever that meant._

Dean’s head hurt a little. He continued watching the shadows.

He couldn’t shake the feeling of something waiting, just inside the darkness for whatever it needed to materialize. He had seen enough ugly in his life that his head could go on autopilot for days with all the possibilities of what could come crawling out at any moment.

He wondered not for the first time if he’d been wrong to make the choice of staying together so rashly. But it wasn’t a choice, it wasn’t like they could have each picked a hemisphere and stayed away from each other forever, especially not the way things were now.

No. They were stronger together. They were all they got…

The night beyond was still. As the minutes ticked by, the fear in Dean stilled too. He enjoyed the reassuring in and out of air under his hand. The stopping of that breath, the only thing that had ever truly scared Dean. Whatever it was, John said it was only coming for him. He took solace in that.

He ran a thumb along the curve of Sam's spine. He didn’t want him to worry.

The armrest on the side of the door was right in Dean’s back, an army man’s gun poking him. Dean smiled and let the rest fall away.

He shifted in the seat and Sam roused sleepily from their post-sex nap. He rubbed at his temples like he had a headache, but smiled when his eyes met Dean’s and he let his hand drop.

“So,” Dean said, “does that count as a three-way?”

Sam looked at him puzzled.

“You, me, Baby,” Dean laughed with a quick kiss to Sam’s cheek. He opened the door, pulling on his jeans and the rest of his clothes and returned to the front seat, followed by Sam fully dressed again, though missing a shoe.

“Let’s find a bed,” Sam yawned, leaning against Dean. Dean loved the sated happiness that was thick in his voice.

“I can get on board with that.” Dean was so dog tired though that the thought of the highway made him yawn too.

There was a thin mist rolling in off the water. He turned the headlights on and stared down the dirt path. He decided to see where the winding road before them went. They drove down until it dead ended into the driveway of a cottage. It was secluded, windows dark. It looked lonely as it sat overlooking the water below, in want of some light and love inside. It had a stack of newspapers by the front door, a month’s worth of junk mail in the box, and more importantly- keys hidden in a fake plastic rock.

“Maybe we should go find a hotel.” Sam said.

“Feeling bad about a little B&E? Come on Sammy, these rich a-holes probably only come up here two days a year in the summer to sail around on their golden yacht. No one is going to notice or care. We won’t trash the place.” Dean palmed the key and tossed the rock over his shoulder.

“If anything we are helping them realize that hide-a-keys are not smart. It is a public service really.” Dean unlocked the door and flipped on the lights. The rich can afford multiple power bills it seemed, and hopefully some running water.

“So for the next few days we are…” Dean glanced at the names on the envelopes on the counter. “David and Ruth. You’re Ruth.”

“Real funny. Wait…few days?”

“Couple of days by a lake, you naked. Sounded pretty good. But I guess that call is up to you..."

Sam beamed at the thought and kissed Dean, worries forgotten.

***

Those important memories, those few true blips of happiness in one’s life are often not recognized for what they are until they are long over. This was not the case for Dean Winchester. Happiness was so rare a bird in his world that he always knew it the moment it flapped its wings into his life for even the briefest of moments. He had wished for a happily ever after and he was granted it. They deserved this. For once they set it all down, every single weight. He wasn't going to spend a moment on anything other than being grateful and happy.

It was only the mind and body bending amazing sex they shared, but all those little moments between them...

Sitting on the porch the first morning watching the sunrise and drinking hot coffee with their fingers laced together. Skinny dipping in the lake, Sam swimming up to Dean on the dock and kissing him, pulling him in, and doing things together that frightened the fish. Renting jet skis and watching Sam laugh as they raced. Writing his name with sunscreen on Sam’s skin and seeing it more clearly as Sam tanned. Building a fire and feeding Sam sticky marshmallows that he licked off his fingers and lips. Carving their names or initials in the trees they made love under. Laying under the stars and watching the fireflies come glowing out of the tall grasses. Watching Sam smile so often he lost count of them.

The last day though, that was the best. Endings always are.

A soft spring rain pattered down on the roof as he and Sam lay in bed. Like the personification of spring herself was blessing their love. Refreshing breezes wafted in through the windows left open on the covered back porch bringing with them the smell of fresh wet earth to mingle with the scent of sex in the air.

The little waves of coolness made their shared body heat and the thick white comforter they laid on top of feel cozy. They hadn’t gotten out of bed practically all day and it wasn’t likely they were going to. It was perfect. Dean concluded all romances should happen in spring, by the lake, under new rain.

Sam lay with one arm tossed back over Dean, his head pillowed cozily sideways on Dean’s chest, his long legs still hanging off the bed from where Dean had held them up and fucked him vigorously only a few minutes before.

His hand brushed through a knot of Sam’s tangled sex hair, smoothed it, scratched soft at his scalp. The palm of his other hand was resting on a warm spot on his side where a purple hickey was starting to form.

Dean watched him as his wheels started turning again, a million thoughts running through that too smart brain of his, shifting right back into being his Sammy again. Dean was drifting in and out of post-orgasmic bliss thoughts himself.

The talk between them was trivial, like most good pillow talk should be. Of which Rolling Stones album was the best, of summers long ago, of the Dallas Cowboys’ next season, of "that one time when...", and the best dessert in each state.

Sam’s fingers rubbed lovingly against Dean’s arm that rested around his middle. “Lewis and Clark…”

“Hmm?” Dean inquired, “Superman?”

Sam chuckled. “As in the Lewis and Clark Expedition. As in the namesake of this lake.”

“Ah.”

“It is funny out of all places, we end up here. You know, they were the explorers that mapped out the northwest, discovered what was out there, fought alongside one another like brothers. I mean to put it in perspective, back then it was all uncharted territory, it was like going to the moon!”

Dean made some basic acknowledging noises to Sam’s historical geek-out fest. He vaguely remembered some of the story of them from his school days, but mostly the exciting near-death, man-against-nature parts.

“There is some conjecture that Meriwether was gay,” Sam continued.

“With a name like Meriwether it is not hard to believe,” Dean said.

Sam slapped the back of his hand against Dean’s stomach. Dean gave a laugh at himself considering where all nine inches of his cock had just been. The jokes were a bad habit it was going to take some time to break.

They listened to the sweet peaceful rhythm of the rain for awhile, watched it tap against the closed window over the bed, it too looked lazy on this Sunday afternoon.

“Some people have theories that the two of them were… lovers.”

Dean was suddenly much more interested in the history lesson Sam was teaching.

“It is all speculation and hearsay of course, as no major diaries have turned up, or any confirmation, but I was reading this book about it recently. It was a fiction, but the guy did a lot of research…” He trailed off again. He turned and pulled his legs up onto the bed so his full body was against Dean, his ear against his chest adding Dean’s heart beat to the drumming of the rain overhead.

“So what happened to them, you know, in the end?” Dean asked. Sam was warm and solid against him. He was everything good in the world.

“Well… after the expedition, Lewis had a lot of problems with politics, writers block, so much was expected of him when he came back, tons of pressure. He never married. Some people say he had a broken heart too, as he said even right to the end Clark would come for him, save him. He committed suicide, or so the story goes.”

“Gee, that’s nice Sam. You sure do have some romantic pillow talk.”

There was a long silence and it seemed Sam was finished telling the story. The question hung in Dean’s mind so he finally voiced it. “And Clark?”

“Well… he did marry. Lived a long life. Most people say the love between Lewis and Clark was unrequited, but…his family said that once Lewis died Clark couldn’t talk about the expedition without tears, even in his golden years. If you are after provable facts... he named his first son Meriwether Lewis Clark. That sounds like love to me, of the purest kind.”

Then Sam’s voice got quiet, reverent, “So I was here thinking about how much they loved each other, and what they may never have gotten, may not have even said to one another before it was too late. We could have gone the same way, the same path. But everything that is bigger than two people in love somehow parted for us, all of it, and I am here with you... I am in awe every moment of the day that I am here with you. All the years I spent wishing for one second longer on that hug. To here. Where you are mine. No matter what else happens, no one can change that, nothing can touch it. Love like this, true love that actually works out, most people don't even think it exists."

Dean’s heart swelled with happiness that was too much for it to hold in, it overflowed and streaked down in a wet line on his cheek.

He rolled toward him taking his face in his hands and kissed his Sammy slow and sweet.

They made love the rest of the day, saying things with their bodies that words alone would never be big enough to convey, kissing in a language that only they would ever speak.

Then they packed up and left their little love nest, sticking the keys through the mail slot. A well used bed and a broken line of salt the only signs they had been there at all.

So busy were they with talk of love that neither noticed the words scratched deep into the door...

✦✦✦

Sam had said he was going to make Dean come before they reached the hotel, Dean had said not happening, but somewhere along the way roadhead did happen and yeah…he popped just minutes short of his exit.

They pulled into the parking lot of the Sleep Eazy Motel. Dean didn’t wait for Sam’s victory speech, but swung open the door and made a beeline for the front office.

“Dean,” Sam called from out the window.

He turned around…

“Might want to zip up first.” Then went into a fit of hysterics.

Dean’s face flushed as he yanked up his zipper.

The door chimed when he entered and the petite blonde behind the counter looked him up and down, saw Sam sitting in the Impala beyond him. She grinned wide and flirty. “Two queens?” she asked in her sweetest voice, already making plans for her evening, she didn’t care with which.

On more than one occasion people saw him and Sam together and assumed that they were a couple. It had always irked Dean before, as if people could see into his secrets and were giving them voice. But it wasn’t like that now. Dean grinned right back at her, leaning on the counter, putting out his best flirting vibe before saying, “King actually.”

She blinked a few times, like it hadn’t hit her.

“On second thought, give me your honeymoon suite.”

She stuttered a moment, quickly took his details and swiped his credit card. She glanced out at Sam and back at Dean, back to Sam. She fanned herself as she handed him the heart shaped key to their room. Dean threw her a wink, “Thanks.” And turned on his heels feeling pretty good.

Sam was standing with his arms folded across his chest leaning against the car when Dean returned. He was not even attempting to mask his feelings about the flirty exchange he hadn't gotten to hear but witnessed very clearly through the office’s big front windows.

“See something you like in there?”

“Ah, jealousy is a good color on you,” Dean grinned, wiggling the key in Sam’s face until he reached up and snatched it. “Grab your bag, let's go.”

Sam stuck the key in the lock and opened the door, his shoulders hunched up as tight as his feelings currently were. He couldn't believe all it took was one girl and- Dean pushed passed him into the room when he didn’t move fast enough.

“Wow. Look at this. We're like Rockefellers. Chocolates! You want yours?”

“Knock yourself out.” Sam said coolly. Then he took a moment to look around the room. This wasn’t their typical dive. “Is this…” He trailed off seeing the champagne, the rug in front of the fireplace, the oversized heart shaped bed Dean was laying on. “Is this…?”

Dean grinned up at him from the bed, unwrapping his first chocolate. "We might be on a case but the honeymoon isn't over yet, sugar."

And for a moment Sam’s frown deepened.

“Ah, don’t get your panties in a twist. You are totally into the lovey-dovey thing."

"You can be a real jerk sometimes, you know that?"

"I do know that, but this isn't one of those times, Sam. I just figured this ought to be the better room here. I was being nice! Jeeze.”

The knowledge that he did it not because he was a cheeky son of a bitch, but because he actually meant it—he wasn’t mocking him—lightened Sam’s mood instantly.

“Plus, before you made that bitchface at me, I was going to tell you how we totally blew that check-in girl's mind with the thought of me and you fucking til Tuesday. We soaked her panties for a month when I said I wanted this room." He popped the other chocolate in his mouth. "Because Sam, if you didn’t get the point already, I’m in love with you. _Only_ you, sasquatch. I know I might be a flirt, but come on Sam I–”

Sam flung himself down onto the bed with a full body hug and kiss to Dean.

"I just thought..." Sam said then trailed off ashamed, "Old ghosts." Dean nodded to that, understanding fully. "I guess it will take some time to adjust." He grinned sheepishly. "Sorry."

Dean waved off the apology, and instead pulled Sam down for another kiss. The day was already halfway shot, might as well start out on the case in the morning, and enjoy another evening with Sam. His dick loved that idea.

“Do you ever feel…” Sam started but then stopped.

“Hmm?” Dean inquired kissing the corners of Sam's mouth, trying to get things started.

“Bad about this? Us?”

Dean’s brow furrowed. “Isn’t it a little late for the ‘should we do this’ conversation?” He might be more receptive emotion-wise, but he still preferred the kissing to the talking.

“It is not what I meant. I guess I wasn't expecting you to be so open about it. I kind of thought you'd ask me to keep it secret or something in the day to day. I miss being inside your head, knowing what you are thinking about."

Dean had to laugh at that. “I guess I should,” was his too quick reply and Sam froze. Dean shook his head with a smile and squeezed him reassuringly. “I guess I _did._ ” He corrected. "But you love me, so I don't care who knows it now. Well, maybe not Bobby, I'm not sure his ticker could handle it."

"You mean that?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, Bobby is getting pretty up there in years." Dean laughed as Sam elbowed him.  
"Okay, you want to know what is going on in my head seriously..." Dean took another moment, still trying to find the words… he took a deep breath, breathed in Sammy, and let himself open in a way he never would with anyone else.

“How can you explain to someone that can only see outside appearances, labels, the lines in the sand, the truth of love? How can you describe being enraptured with the very essence of a person, every quirk that made them up without question? That it didn’t matter what physical form they have, if they stood before you as man or woman, that everything besides their soul was inconsequential. That your love asked no questions of why or how, it asked no questions at all, it only knew that it was, completely and fully love. Could anyone else see the beauty in that? In a love _absolute_?”

Dean turned his gaze back to Sam whose mouth had dropped open. Sure, words like inconsequential weren't used often in his vocabulary, but it didn't mean Dean didn't know them. He had spent a lot of time thinking over his feelings for Sam. Dean let his head move up, rubbing his jaw against Sam’s temple in an open nuzzle.

“If they could, even for a second see you the way I do, they’d never ask me to feel anything but love. So no, Sammy, I don’t feel bad about us. I feel bad for anyone who doesn’t have it, and will never understand it."

It was possibly the most honest thing Dean had ever said. Certainly the prettiest.

Dean hadn’t meant to make Sam cry, but god, he’d say anything to make him kiss him like he was now, fierce and loving at once. How right the world was when Sam kissed him. “Hell, Sammy, I’m gonna write you some poetry,” He laughed.

The drive had been long, the road to get to this point even longer. Dean pulled Sam into his arms, held him, outright snuggled him. They kissed for a long time in enjoyment, but then Dean suddenly stirred remembering his mission of the evening. “I’m gonna take a shower, Sam,” he said after a few minutes without segue, hopping out of bed.

Sam felt cold in the bed alone as he watched his brother pad towards the bathroom, the snuggling heat of Dean suddenly gone. He didn’t know what to say to call Dean back to him though, and he watched him disappeared behind the door.

Sam could hear the spray of water hitting the tile as the shower started up, and wished Dean would screw the shower and come back. A moment later Dean reappeared at the bathroom door, naked, like he had heard Sam’s wish. He leaned up against the door frame with a smirk, as if to say “I’m here, now what were your other two wishes?”

“What? Your shower fetish for me suddenly over, Sammy?” He grinned.

Sam cocked his head for a moment.

“Seriously?” Dean pulled a mock disappointed face. “I guess I’ll have to jerk it all by myself in the shower then,” and Dean began tugging on his already hardening dick in demonstration. “Just moaning your name aaall to myself…” He turned and headed back to the bathroom glancing over his shoulder.

Sam was instantly up in every sense of the word, and following Dean into the bathroom. Dean really was granting wishes!

***

Dean slapped Sam’s butt as he headed out of the motel bathroom.

He had given himself over to Sam’s shower kink fully. He had Sam stand in the doorway, as he hopped into the big tub. He left the curtain open just a sliver, barely showing any skin just hints and teases before turning, yanking the curtain off its rings, throwing it to the floor declaring, “Sammy hates shower curtains!” Then he shampooed his hair and soaped himself up slow, facing the spray as if Sam wasn't there. He let Sam watch as he leaned his one hand against the wall as he always had and jerked himself to hard. He allowed Sam's mind to soak up the visuals of what he had been denied so long, see everything he wanted to all these years together. He moaned Sam's name until Sam, harder than the granite sink he was leaning on, could stand it no more and bounded up into the shower, shoved Dean against the pink tiled wall, bubbles and suds flying. And the rest went down (literally) in sex history.

“Dude, do I have a suntan of your name written on my ass?” Sam asked from the bathroom.

Dean snickered and sat on the edge of the bed. This was more sex then he consecutively had in a row... ever. He was sore in places he didn’t even know could get sore. But it was good.

“I’m starving,” He said.

“When aren’t you hungry?” Sam replied, wearing only a towel around his hips when he walked back into the room a few minutes later.

“Hey, just because I fed you in the shower…” Dean laughed as a pillow smacked him in the back of the head.

Sam leaned on the bed as he bent down to grab up his cell from his discarded jeans pocket and look for places that delivered. Dean reached forward snatching the towel around his waist away, leaving him bent over and naked.

“Hey!” He said snapping up in surprise.

“Oh, you love me and you know it.” He smiled tossing the towel over his shoulder onto the floor. “And to show your love, you should be naked all the time now.”

Sam rolled his eyes and flopped back down on the bed, naked. Dean grinned and chucked off his own towel. Sam was his personal heaven, and yes, naked is just how Dean always envisioned it. Sam flipped open his phone as Dean crawled his way up the bed, stopping to kiss along the skin of his bare thighs.

They ordered some delivery, hold the onions for once, triple the pie for kinky fun later. They curled up with each other, kissing lazily while they waited for it to be delivered. Sam’s long limbs tangled up with his, pulling him closer. Dean felt like his whole being intertwined with Sam, most especially his heart.

“So…think we can get in another round before the delivery guy gets here?” Sam wiggled his eyebrows, ever insatiable. “Plus!” Sam said, leaning over the side of the bed, fiddling with something. The metallic clank of money in a machine. The heart shaped bed suddenly started to hum and move.

“Magic fingers,” He grinned, climbing back up and straddling the now vibrating Dean. “I’ve got a whole roll of q _u_ arters.”

“You are so…” Dean smiled looking for the perfect word as Sam’s own magic fingers started roaming down his body.

“Awesome.”

And Dean leaned up and kissed him like they might never get the chance again.

***

There was a knock at the door. Sam’s head flew up, “Shit.” He bounded off the bed, looking everywhere for pants.

“Just a minute,” he called.

Dean lay laughing from the still vibrating bed, watching Sam stumble and almost fall over trying to get his jeans on in a hurry and not zip up anything important in the process. Sam didn’t even try to fix his rumbled sexed out appearance—did nothing more but get his zipper up and run a hand through his hair. He opened the door with his wallet out.

 

CRACK.

 

One hundred and forty decibels of disbelief and Sam stumbled backwards.

The sound is one familiar to Dean. One he grew up hearing. But it doesn’t fit.

It doesn’t fit in this happy life, this scene, this place. _This was their happily ever after! This wasn’t them out hunting, this wasn’t a ghost, a werewolf, this-this-this was them and pillow talk. Showers, and naked soapy smelling thighs under lips, and-_

CRACK. The spectacular spray of red hit against the room divider behind Sam. Blood like obscene graffiti that spelled out the end.

It had only been a fraction of a second between the first shot and the second. Dean’s feet had already hit the floor, his own gun drawn. It felt like everything was in slow motion with how long it took him to get to the door. To Sam. To Sam who had fallen backwards to the floor, blood soaking the carpet.

It doesn’t fit. _It can’t._

_Oh god! Sam!_

 

  


To be continued... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry to anyone still reading, I know I haven't written in forever. I went to purgatory and something ate my confidence and stabbed my muse…
> 
> Honestly, your awesome encouragement is the only reason this chapter exists. Thank you!
> 
> I only hope it wasn't too...I don't know. My “writing skills” are “rusty” *hides*  
> 


	19. If I Die Before I Wake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Said there ain't no use in crying.  
> Cause it will only, only drive you mad  
> Does it hurt to hear them lying?  
> Was this the only world you had?  
> -Led Zeppelin

 

Hell had no fury like Dean motherfucking Winchester scorned. He swung towards the door, jaw set like stone, ready to pump out the full 17 rounds in his Taurus Model 92, and if that didn’t do the job he would gladly finish off whatever the hell was out there with his bare rage alone. He kicked the door fully open, its hinges barking at the attack, and beyond found…

Only an empty motel parking lot.

A sick twist of déjà vu filled his head but there were too many things occupying his thoughts right now, mostly _kill kill kill._

He swung his gun fast to the left and right. No one. Nothing.

There was only sky above him and earth below. The Impala sat still parked in her spot amongst a few other cars in the mostly vacant lot. There was the faint sound of traffic as it went by out on the highway. The neon lights in the vacancy sign buzzed overhead. Nothing but the world beyond the door, going on as normal as it always had when Dean’s whole life was crashing down around him.

With no threat to neutralize, he swallowed all his fury down and grief came surging up in its wake. It didn’t matter who now, the damage already was done. He turned, dropping his useless gun and fell to his knees at Sam’s side. He pulled his brother into his arms, wishing this was a fire he could carry him out of.

“I got you, Sammy. I got you. I’m here. You are gonna be okay.”

Red was pooling at the corners of Sam’s mouth. Off in the distance rose the sound of sirens. Someone had already made the call having heard the shots.

Dean leaned him back to assess the damage. Two mortal wounds in Sam’s chest, point blank. Blood rushed from the gaping holes of torn flesh, Dean pressed his hand to them, tried to desperately hold them closed, but the warm feel of blood soaking into his sleeves from the exit wounds in Sam’s back made the effort pointless.

“Hey, listen to me. Help is coming. It’s on the way.”

Sam choked up blood when he tried to speak, his breath coming in a wheezing rattle.

“Sam? Sam, you stay with me. You hear?”

“Dream about you…” Sam slurred, his eyes already looking far off. “Dean, dream we are okay.”

“No!”

Sam’s whole face fell at that, like Dean was denying him peace. And hell, he was. He wasn’t going to just sit here and let Sam go, not like this.

“You aren’t going to dream because you aren’t going to sleep, you are staying right here with me,” Dean explained. There was a long silence and Sam’s eyes fell closed. Dean shook him trying to get his eyes open, to look at him. He never wanted those eyes to close again.

“Don’t you die on me! That is an order!” Dean yelled and Sam finally opened his eyes again.

“Okay, Dean,” he said, the words wet.

Dean’s heart broke as Sam’s brow furrowed and he choked, his body starting to shiver as he went into shock. He kept his eyes on his brother, kept them trained, kept them strong and hard. Through the pain and the blood, Sam was going to hold out for Dean. He was going to follow that order until he died failing. The last thing he’d know on earth would be the feeling of letting Dean down.

And Dean knew he couldn’t… he couldn’t ask that of Sam.

“You’re right, Sammy,” His voice finally broke, he let it. “Time to dream about me and you. Of all the good times we’re having.” Dean swallowed down all the words of regret over all the wasted years, only a few escaping. “You dream I’m not such a stubborn ass, okay?”

Sam would have laughed if he could have but Dean knew what the look he gave him meant anyway - _It wouldn’t be you then, Dean. It wouldn’t be you._

Dean paused a moment fighting back the sobs wanting to come out. “We are out by the lake now. We are still making love. I’m kissing you.”

There was a contented noise from Sam, his hand came up to rest on Dean’s arm. He gave a strengthless tug, which Dean understood. He leaned down and pressed his lips to his. There was the metallic flavor of blood, but under he still tasted of Sammy. Sam had always kissed as if he were a dying man and Dean was his very last request on earth, but oh, it was the truth now. Sam kissed him with all he had left, every breath.

When he let his mouth drop away another hard shiver went through him, it wracked his muscles, but then abruptly stopped. He looked up into Dean’s eyes.

“You are okay,” Dean said, forcing a brave smile. “You are okay.”

There was so much Dean wanted to tell him, there was so much he needed him to know. He cupped Sam’s cheek, so much to say. But words failed him. So he said the only things that really mattered in the end.

“I love you.”

Sam went silent and slack in Dean’s arms.

Dean pulled him in and wrapped him as tight as he could to himself, as if he could keep his soul in his body if he just held on tight enough.

“I love you, Sammy.” He held him as he felt Sam go, watched the light go out in his eyes…

Gone. Just like that.

“No, no, no, no, no, no. Oh, God. Oh, God.” He cried into his brother’s long hair as the useless sirens grew louder in the distance. Crying, kissing his face, begging the gods, the angels, anyone out there. But there was no one buying souls in this lonely town tonight.

Dean saw his abandoned gun then, like a silver promise of peace waiting for him on the floor. He still held Sam tight with one arm, with the other he put a finger on the barrel and slid it slow across the carpet towards himself.

He could go on, he knew that is what he’d want Sam to do. To go on. And Sam would. He’d make his way in the world as he always had, his brave Sammy. But that wasn’t Dean.

He picked up the gun, his bloody fingers wetting the pearl grip.

He would fight hard until the end, until the very bitter end. He’d stand at the gates of hell, as long as Sam stood by his side. But without Sam… that _was_ the end. He didn’t want to be here without the other half of his soul.

He clicked the frame mounted safety on the gun to off. On. And off. Like he had done some years ago when it had only been miles and misunderstandings separating him and Sam, and not death itself like it was now. He clicked it off and held it up without hesitation. He wanted to follow him into the dark.

He opened himself up to every painful wonderful memory of them, every smile he could recall, every good day, let them all overwhelm him. He pressed his lips to Sam’s, one last kiss, because that is exactly where he wanted to die. He let the muzzle of the gun press its own kiss into the side of his head.

 

“Dude. What are you doing with the gun?”

 

Dean’s eyes flew open startled at the voice. His breath caught in his throat.

“Am I really that awesome at blowjobs,” Sam asked sitting up from between his legs, “that you need to fire off some victory shots?” And then laughed.

Sam was here. Sam was laughing. Alive and laughing. Hazel eyes and dimples. He let his finger fall away from the trigger.

“We aren’t in the woods now Dean. Motel, remember?” The heart shaped bed was still vibrating below Dean’s back with its magic fingers. The walls of the honeymoon suite of the Sleep Eazy Motel around them.

Dean was in such shock, so confused, he couldn’t move.

“Or is this…” Sam kissed down the inside of his spread thighs, “I am up for some gunplay if that is what you are into. Don’t shoot, I’ll do anything you want.” He grinned wanton and horny, like he hadn’t _just died._ His lips were warm with life as he mouthed fast kisses on Dean’s bare skin headed downwards. He grinned for one second then took his length in his mouth without pause, tongue swirling around the head of Dean’s cock. The sensation punched a breath out of Dean, adding to his utter confusion, but finally breaking his paralysis.

Sam was alive!

He grabbed a hold of him and despite Sam’s initial protesting, pulled him up, looking into his eyes, and kissed him with dumbstruck awe. He rolled them over until he was on top of Sam, his whole body shielding him from the rest of the world as much as he could.

Breathless, confused, grateful, wanting to yell out in happiness, he kissed him hard again, both hands on his stupid perfect face. Then panic rose up and he leaned back fast, ran his hand down Sam’s chest. Sam’s unmarked chest. No holes. No blood. He kissed him again. Sam tasting only of Sam this time. He kissed him without let up until he was breathless enough that he might black out.

And Sam rolled with it, arms flung around him, kissing him with the passion that always blazed hot for Dean. Breaking away only long enough to say, “God, I love you.”

With those words spoken, Dean collapsed down onto Sam, his arms suddenly like jello. Tears from the still too fresh grief mixed with those of real happiness rolled down his face.

“Dean?” Sam pushed him back to get a look at him, his voice finally hitting the proper note of concern. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“Oh god, Sammy, I don’t even–”

Before he could even start to comprehend, there was a knock at the door.

The rage went pounding through Dean again in an instant. He bolted to his feet grabbing his gun from the bed.

He pointed a finger at Sam as his brother started to stand up. “You stay right the fuck where you are.”

And Sam sat right back down on the bed, eyes wide.

Dean approached the door, got to the side and threw it open, when no shots came he leaped out and pointed his gun, finger already halfway to squeezing the trigger.

The delivery boy, seeing not only the gun pointed at him but the totally naked wild looking man, with tears and anger on his face in equal measure, dropped both bags of food to the ground and stuck his hands in the air.

“Who sent you?” Dean yelled, about to pull the trigger anyway.

“W-W-Weiner Hu-u-ut!” the boy trembled the words out.

“What?” Dean yelled shoving the gun further at the kid. “ _What?_ ”

“Weiner Hut!” The kid cried, trying to keep his eyes only on the guy’s face and not his hutless...

Sam, barely getting his jeans zipped, was at his brother’s side a second later. He pushed the gun down and out of the kid’s terrified face. “Good one. Good stuff.” A big fake grin plastered on. He shoved the reluctant Dean behind him.

“We got you,” Sam said with a nervous laugh. “Just a prank, uh…” He looked down at the kids hotdog shaped nametag pinned to his red and white striped shirt, “Alfie. Just a prank, Alfie.” He handed the wiener-on-a-stick kid a hundred dollar bill. “He uh, takes these things a little far sometimes. It isn’t funny unless someone has shit their pants.” The expression on the kid’s face now prompted an actual laugh from Sam, and another when he turned to see Dean still butt ass naked, glaring over his shoulder.

“You guys need help.” The kid grabbed up the hundred and stuck it in his pocket, no offer of change. He gave Sam one more look, and then took off back to his car as fast as he could, grateful to make it away from the encounter alive.

In only his jeans, Sam bent and picked up the bags of dropped food and pushed the very naked Dean back inside and closed the door.

“Okay. That was fun. Going to tell me what the hell just happened?”

“ _What?_ ” Dean was so lost he couldn’t even comprehend another word right now.

“Why did you almost shoot the delivery boy?”

“You got shot.”

Sam stared at him for a long minute. “O-kay...”

“Sam. You got shot. I watched you die. You died, right here. Where I am standing.” He paused then in expectation, like Sam was going to have some explanation to give him. Sam only set the bags of food on the table and then ran a hand over the back of his neck, looking at Dean like he had lost it.

“Did I really fuck you stupid or something?” Sam asked.

“This isn’t funny!”

“Dean you fell asleep, you were dreaming,” He said with a convinced nod, but his voice sounded less sure.

 _It had been real. Every second of it, it wasn’t a dream…was it?_ He turned it over and over in his head then met his brother’s eyes, no closer to an answer.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“Look at me. Hey.” Sam put an arm on Dean’s shoulder, pulled him in to his body. He ran a reassuring hand through his hair, cradled the back of his head. “You passed out, it was only a bad dream.”

“Okay, yeah, thank you Unsolved Mysteries,” Dean said, voice angry, though not at Sam really.

Sam gestured to the food, but when Dean still didn’t move, he ran his hands down his body, as if to suggest they finish their ride with the magic fingers instead.

It wasn’t like Sam to not want to talk this to death. To not want to pick it apart until Dean was the one sick of the conversation. Something wasn’t right here. Dean pushed Sam off and moved past him, walking until he felt something soft under his bare foot.

He raised it, and there, down where he had lost his brother just moments ago, where he had almost lost his mind, figuratively and literally, where Sam’s very blood had watered the carpet, were red flowers. A patch of red flowers with dark black centers.

“What the hell is that?” Dean yelled pointing.

“What the hell is what?” Sam asked turning, following his pointing finger.

“That!” But before Dean could lean down and snatch up one of the flowers, a thin red line began to run down the front of Sam’s chest again. Dean lunged forward, grabbed a hold of him, and cried out at the sight of cuts beginning to appear up his brother’s body. Long red gashes up his chest, his arms slit open from elbow to wrist, blood gushing from the wounds.

“What?” Sam asked calm as ever, moving his hands to rest on Dean’s shoulders. “What is it?”

Dean looked up into his eyes, frantic but saw only worry on Sam’s face, no pain. When he looked back down the blood was gone. Within a second he went from frightened to majorly pissed. He was being toyed with. His one true weakness exploited.

“That is enough!” He yelled to whoever, whatever. “I’m not afraid of you!” He looked about the room. Whatever this devil was, he wanted it to know that he had already seen the worst of it, there was no hell he could show him now that could break him further, as there was nothing worse than Sam’s death.

He drew his gun up once more.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice now had a note of fear. “I think you are sleepwalking. Whatever you are seeing, it isn’t real.”

Dean ignored him. “Show yourself!”

Sam took a step back away from him as Dean did a full circle, turning his eyes to all the corners of the room watching for movement. Something did move, something that could have been dismissed as a trick of the light had he not been actively looking for it. There, right in his peripheral vision, a darkness moved that made the hair on his neck stand up. His eyes were never quick enough to focus on it, pin it down.

His father had spelled it out for them, something nasty was on the way. He had felt like that something had already been on their trail for days, and he was tired of waiting, tired of games. Tired of nightmares and fear in the pit of his gut.

“All the whispers, the times you called my name! You want me? You come and fucking get me!”

“Don’t invite him!” Sam said, but slammed his mouth shut the second after he spoke, as Dean turned back to him.

Though they were standing only an arm’s length apart on the same tacky motel carpet, it might as well have been a thousand miles now. Because the knowledge that secrets, mistrust, even lies were still between them even after everything they shared left Dean cold inside.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Sam shook his head, mouth moving like he was trying to find words.

Dean felt sick. These weren’t old ghosts, this was fresh treason. “You're about the same open book as you've always been I see.”

Sam’s shoulders slumped. “I love you. I need you to trust me right now.”

Dean felt the memory flutter up inside him, of something he had dismissed, thought had been a dream. The candlelight and chanting, something desperate and dark at the foot of the bed in Bobby’s house, Sam’s words, not in English.

“Sam, what have you done?”

 

 

To be continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short roller coaster ride of emotions so that we are all as confused as Dean while my muse works on the rest!


	20. And Of Things That Will Bite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to believe  
> As I watched your world  
> Crumble in your hands  
> I wanted to believe  
> As you raised your glass  
> To your last stand  
> And I wanted to believe  
> You would win  
> The war in your head  
> That I did not understand  
> That I did not understand  
> \- Johnette Napolitano

“Right now I need you to trust me.” Sam said with a thin tone of calm that failed to hide the panic underneath.

“Trust you? Like you're trusting me right now? You knew what was happening and you’ve been lying to me this whole time!”

Sam only gave Dean an exasperated face, and then turned his attention to his duffle bag. There was no honey in this honeymoon suite now as Dean felt his anger threatening to boil over and burn them both.

Dean found his boxers and jeans in a heap at the foot of the bed and pulled them on. He tugged his black shirt over his head.

“I – I figured we'd try to hold onto the safety bar and ride it out for as long as we could while I looked for another way,” Sam said as if that explained anything. He walked quickly to the bed and set his bag down on it. He unzipped it and began rummaging inside.

Dean fumed in silence, trying to reel his temper in. He only found one sock, tossed it aside. Sam threw him a pair of his own from his bag, but Dean just picked them up and hurled them back at him. Not exactly his most mature moment, but fuck Sam and his socks.

“I just thought we'd have a lot more time. You weren’t even showing any signs. That was zero to sixty, you know?” Sam continued on, explaining exactly nothing.

Dean slid his bare foot into his boot and started lacing them. He suddenly didn’t feel like being exposed any more, no, he wanted on as many layers as he could get. He shrugged on a flannel button down followed by his green canvas jacket. “You told me I was sleepwalking,” Dean muttered.

“Yeah, well, the way you were talking I thought, maybe, if I played it off I could…buy us a few more days.” Sam shook his head, frowning at himself now too, knowing he was babbling and making no sense to Dean. “Trust me.” He pulled a metal flask from the bottom of his bag.

And okay, Dean thought a drink did sound damn great at the moment too. But then Sam grabbed up the glass off the nightstand and gave Dean a nervous glance. He tipped the flask and a thick red liquid sloshed out. Dark red like blood. Dean blinked and what was pouring into the glass looked white as milk. Blink. Clear as air. Blink. Back to red again.

“What is that?” He didn’t take the glass when Sam walked over and held it out to him.

“This is all we have protecting us right now.” He shoved the glass at Dean.

Dean took a step back. “Sammy, tell me what you’ve done.”

“Please.” Sam begged. “Please!” He pushed the glass to Dean’s mouth, but Dean batted it away. It smelled like sweet lies, and Dean had been swallowing enough of those for too long already.

“Talk or I swear I wi–” A dark shadow suddenly loomed up behind Sam. It was ink black and had a weight to it like it was a physical thing. Dean grabbed a hold of Sam’s wrist and yanked him away and behind him. The shadow faded, snuffed out as quick as it had appeared. He turned to look at Sam in shock, only to find his brother’s expression was one of already knowing the truth.

“Tell me what is happening here damn it!”

“I need you to listen to me. You have to stop asking questions right now, clear your mind, and drink some of this. I’m not lying to you, I’m protecting you.”

“From what?” Dean asked.

Sam’s wet finger unexpectedly brushed against Dean’s forehead in a fast flourish of lines. Dean pulled away, a drip of red hit his cheek and rolled down his face. Sam tried to wipe it away but Dean shoved him. He felt kind of light headed. Shook his head trying to clear it. He looked up to see Sam dip a finger into the liquid in the glass and draw a symbol in red on his own forehead without even looking in a mirror. It looked like a star but with extra twists and embellishments.

"What are you doing?"

“You’d sacrifice yourself for me…” Sam said. In only his jeans, still shirtless and barefoot, he somehow looked fragile to Dean, even with all his height and build.

Dean’s eyes darted after shadows that moved once again behind Sam, at least two of them, only half listening to his brother’s words. His head going fuzzy.

Sam finally put his hands on Dean’s face, got him to focus on his eyes, on what he was saying. “But this one time, _please_ , I’m begging you to let me save you. Just this once you have to trust me. I can do this.”

Dean looked into the most beautiful eyes he had even known, saw the pleading. Oh, he wanted to trust him. But right that moment he couldn’t shake the feeling that the Sword of Damocles was hanging over Sam’s head and they desperately needed to switch seats.

“How do you save me exactly, Sam?”

The lights overhead blinked but Sam didn’t even look up. “Right now, what we got, it’s-it’s a spell. Okay? If I explain…it might stop working.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

Sam held out the glass but Dean shook his head. “Magic that powerful comes at a price. You know it. I know it. What’s it costing you? Whatever it is…I’m...not worth it.” He paused a moment, then looked up at Sam unsure, everything feeling like it was going too fast, unraveling. A sudden panic swelling in his chest. “It wasn’t all a lie was it, this thing between us?”

“This thing?” Sam slammed the glass down on the table and turned to Dean.

He was on him a second later, his fists balling up in his jacket he shoved Dean against the motel wall hard enough to shake the door in its frame. “A lie? How could you say that to me after everything!” He gripped Dean’s hair hard, pulled his head back. He bumped the back of Dean’s skull against the wall not exactly gently.

“You are,” Sam said, his whole body tight against Dean’s, the shadows looming behind him still, “ _worth it._ ”  
Sam kissed him then, a deep hard unexpected kiss. The sudden affection shook Dean.

Sam’s soft lips were unyielding, his late-day beard felt rough and good scratching against Dean’s skin as he moved his jaw and sucked on his bottom lip. It made Dean think dirty things against his will, because oh god did Sammy know how to kiss.

Sam pleaded with his lips, not with words but with a show of everything they would lose if Dean wouldn’t for gods sakes listen for once.

Yeah. Sam always did fight dirty when he wanted to win. Dean pushed at Sam, his hands shoving at his bare shoulders. He was so warm, his body strong and smooth beneath his palms. His brother just held him tighter, got a grip on his wrists and pressed them into the wall above his head. Sam’s lower body pinned the rest of him down, all heat against Dean, in a situation where he had plenty of other things he needed to be thinking other than just how great that felt.

“You are worth it to me." Sam said then returned his lips to Dean’s.

But Dean knew he wasn’t. Monsters he could handle, but if something was happening to him, if he was losing his grip on reality, he should get far away from Sam while there was still time.

Dean twisted in the hold but Sam refused to budge, he dropped one hand and held Dean's jaw kissing him deeper, smearing the drop of red on his face with his thumb. Possessive and loving. “Let me.”And he was talking about the spell and the situation, but suddenly all Dean could think about was how Sam’s cock would feel up his ass right that moment, filling him with all that fucking devotion.

Dean unable any longer to control his needy mouth, finally kissed him back, but the kiss was as violent as his mood, lip bruising and rough. He bit Sam’s lip. And Sam took it. He finally dropped his hold on Dean’s wrists, let his arms fall around him. His own mouth went soft under Dean's, placating, letting him take control if he needed it.

Dean got a fistful of his hair, tugging hard and slipping his tongue in his mouth when Sam let out a cry of protest. The cry vanished quickly into a satisfied little moan against Dean’s mouth as he kissed him for all he was worth.

Dean was…oh, it wasn’t anger and he knew it. The whole truth was that he loved Sam so much, his name was etched more than bone deep in him, it was soul deep, his heart beat for it alone. It wasn’t anger he had been feeling, it was the cold icy stabs of fear. Lies between them topped with the feelings of losing Sam sent his thoughts into some feral wild state, left him lashing out at the very thing he wanted more than anything to protect, in accusations, in fists, in things said that could not be taken back. His kiss finally turned back to sweet against Sam's lips. He put his arms around his shoulders, one hand at his neck feeling his very alive pulse thrumming under his fingertips, reassuring.

“I can’t lose you.”

“I can’t lose you either. Jesus, Dean, why can’t you see what you mean to me? That is exactly why I don’t have an answer yet, because you’d never be able to accept the ones I have, even if I laid them at your feet. ” Sam said against Dean’s lips, still kissing him soft between syllables.

“I would if you talked to me.”

“You wouldn’t. Because you don’t believe in destiny.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know,” Sam said. He leaned towards the small motel table without letting go of Dean and picked up the glass once more. Dean looked down at it.

But risking Sam wasn’t an option, whatever crazy thing he had come up with to try to save him, Dean just couldn’t do it. Because life without Sam would be a…

Nightmare.

Thoughts that seemed to have been trapped, now flooded free in his mind with that word, poured down like someone flipped the hour glass in his head, thoughts like sand running down, all adding up.

“The Sandman.”

A true look of fear was on Sam’s face. The lights flickered and the bed rattled like someone had slipped another quarter in the machine.

“It is alive, isn’t it? The Sandman is alive. That is what you aren’t telling me.”

“Stop. Stop talking.” Sam looked as if Dean had let him down. He dropped his arms from around his brother and moved away from him.

“That is why you couldn’t tell me. I am either going insane or it is alive and somehow it is linked up to my head. And he hears what you are saying, even now. Right? And the spell, you want to whammy me, so you can whammy him."

Sam held the glass out only half heartedly, but Dean kept right on talking.

“The dreams, the voices I’ve been hearing, it calling my name. Like it’s been inside my own damn head, making me see all these terrible things. And this last one- that was a doozey. It was as if it was trying to make me pop my top and let it out.”

“Something like that.” Sam looked resigned then.

“…But you killed the bastard back in that cave didn’t you? I mean Bobby deep fried the body extra crispy, he told me. So how?"

“It’s a god.” Sam shrugged, defeated. “Turns out it can’t be killed.”

“God Shmod. We’ve ganked plenty, this thing shouldn’t even be a blip on our radar.” Dean said.

“It isn’t like that.”

“We shouldn't be running, we should be fighting."

“This isn’t some weakened old deity that time forgot that we can shove a stick through and call it a day. This isn't some minion sandman. This is Hypnos, one of the endless, the god of sleep.”

When Dean still looked unimpressed Sam said angrily, “The god of sleep, _brother_ to _Death_.” The shadows in the room vanished all at once.

“Wait. Thee Death? As in the horseman, as in Death-Death, that Death?" Sam's nod finally got Dean's attention to the seriousness of their situation. “Whoa.” He swallowed thickly. “Okay. Okay. So when you burned its body, basically you only–”

“Pissed him off royally?” Sam laughed bitterly. “Yeah.”

“But. But why is he jonesing for my crappy brain? You are the one that fried his ass.” Dean paused. His gut intuition was still blaring the warning sirens in him. His head started to ache. “But he isn’t is he? He _is_ still gunning for you.”

Sam swirled the red liquid in the glass, watched it a moment. He turned his sad eyes to Dean. “I need you to know that–”

Something banged hard against the door. Dean jumped.

"This is not your fault. Whatever happens,” Sam said quickly.

Another loud bang.

Sam grabbed Dean’s hand, pulled it up, and pressed his palm flat onto the amulet. “Whatever it is you see, I need you to keep fighting. Do you hear me? _Always keep fighting._ ”

The lights flickered overhead. Dean turned back to Sam and held his hand out. Hell, he was ready now to drink whatever Kool-Aid Sam was selling.

But Sam lowered the glass. “Too late.”

Another bang.

A shadow moved in front of Sam and a red line went across his chest, above his heart. A fat drop of blood rolled down like a tear. Sam didn’t clutch at the wound, instead he grabbed a hold of Dean and kissed him again. And the room fell into total darkness.

Sam whispered into his ear. “Don’t let him take you from me.”

The door crashed open.

Dean’s could see nothing in the blackness but somehow more blackness. A sandpaper rough hand touched him.

“Get away from him!” He felt Sam move from him even as he tried to hold him close. There was a scuffle in the darkness, and Dean moved as fast as he could, arms stretched forward, gun drawn, but no matter how fast or where he moved, he always seemed two steps behind it all. Like he was running in place.

“Sam!” Dean yelled into the dark. “SAM!”

The lights flickered back to life.

His attention went to the first sign of movement. A glass was skittering across the floor, leaving a trail of blood red liquid on the ground. It rolled until it bumped against the open door where it stayed.

Dean was still standing in the motel room. That is, if they happened to have booked a stay at Motel Hell. The room was a twisted nightmare vision of what it had been before. The lights overhead were a pale sickly yellow that barely cast a glow down onto the broken wreckage of the room. Every heart shaped item in the room was broken in half, including the bed. Everything was aged, destroyed and covered in sand. The walls were tattered, worn away in places, with only blackness beyond.

And Sam was gone.

The Sandman was alive and now he had Sam.

 

 

To be continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m..uh... just going to edit this note now because we all came here to read about hot boys not my personal hell ;) 
> 
> I hope to have the story all wrapped up and posted as soon as I can. I am thinking I will wait and post a few chapters at once, so be sure you check what chapter you are on if that happens so you don’t skip one. 
> 
> Comments and random thoughts appreciated :) Feedback too, like, don’t rip my heart out please, but tell me what you want, if you are bored, amused, what you’d like to see the boys doing (heh) suggestions for improvements etc.


	21. Shut the Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anywhere you go, anyone you meet  
> Remember that your eyes can be your enemies  
> I said, hell is so close and heaven's out of reach  
> But I ain't giving up quite yet  
> I've got too much to lose
> 
> -Augustana

“Sam!”

Dean’s heart was pounding in his chest as he looked around at the wreckage of the room trying to figure out what to do. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe that monster did take them to another realm. Or maybe he was just going batshit crazy...

The duffels were gone, everything recognizable was gone. The place was in ruins. All he had was what was on him the moment everything changed which were the clothes on his back, the gun in his hand, and the lighter in his jacket pocket. What he needed was a plan. But how the hell do you fight a dream god anyway? _With a flippin’ dream catcher?_

Maybe he could get out to the Impala…

Dean tried to wrack his brain for any lore he might have picked up about sandmen as he moved closer to the open door. But Sam was the one that had hit the books and Dean was drawing a blank now. He could recall only old comic books he read as a teenager and an annoying oldies song he use to hear when they stopped at the 50’s themed retro diners that were ever popular along the main highways.

There was a loud squealing screech throughout the room like an old highschool speaker system turning on. The room filled with melodic female voices that were singing the very song that had just been playing in Dean’s own mind.

_Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream…♫♪_

Dean spun around but found no changes in the room. No monster. Just the too cheery song playing all around him, from an unseen source. 

_…♪♬ Make him the cutest that I've ever seen._

A monster with a sense of humor. Great.

Dean tried to ignore the fact the thing seemed to be reading his mind and was taunting him. He pulled out his lighter and flicked it on. He took a deep breath and stepped quickly out past the door. He swung his gun left and right, wishing for an empty motel parking lot beyond the door this time.

The faint stars in the sky above him were the only light source and they were moving unnaturally fast. The moon rose and fell and rose again, as if days were passing as he stood there, with no sun in-between. Strange echoes of ghostly conversations drifted in and out, music both familiar and strange at once, far off cries, manic yelling, and a loud clanking sound like something breaking down. All the noise overlapped the happy sandman tune that was still playing on from the room behind him. He was in a world of constant night and chaos.

He moved forward and the darkness around him retreated, not as shadows from the light, but like a sudden swift movement of a creature recoiling from a burning heat. The area around him was lit like he held a great spotlight in his hand and not a mere Zippo. The color was draining from everything until it was pure white where the light touched, like it had been bleached. The building, the sidewalk, even the motel sign were soon all stark white and strangely shaped, a caricature of the world with all the details missing. It left the surroundings looking eerie in the mist that began swirling in around his boots.

Dean moved to the edge of the motel’s pavement and peered down at a steep embankment that lay where the parking lot once was. Black sand led down in mountainous slopes before him in all directions. The drop went so far down he could not see the bottom, a great precipice, the world vanishing into nothing. Nothing as far as the eye could see beyond in any direction. Like one crappy motel drifting out in time and space.

There was no Impala, no weapons. No plan. _Figures._

“Sam?” Dean called out.

“Sam!” A voice echoed back from all around him like it was pounding through his own head. There was a dark laugh as the name repeated on.

Movement in his peripheral vision made him swing his gun around to his left. A large cream colored moth fluttered in and landed on his hand, wings twittering. More moths began to flitter from the darkness and headed towards his light. Their bodies feathery and swift as they darted closer like little kamikaze pilots to his flame. He swatted a hand at them as he tried to think. Thinking was hard above the noise here, the distant groans and whispers of Sam’s name. He needed a plan of action!

_♫…Sandman, I'm so alone…♪_

And then from far below, above all the other noise - was a scream. Sam’s scream.

Dean moved fast then without another thought. He swung his legs over the side of the pavement and into the sand, as that had to be the way they had gone. There was no other choice but down. Maybe it was a crazy plan, but right now, crazy was the only game in town.

The sand shifted and moved beneath his boots as he planted his heels in as hard as he could and began sliding down.

He tried to go slowly but the incline became steeper and steeper until he was going almost straight down. He sunk his hands in the sand at his sides, his boots already pressed down, but there was nothing to grip to slow himself. The shifting black sand quickly seemed to be moving like a waterfall, like he had already gone off the edge. He had the feeling of falling, untethered to earth or reality, possibly even his sanity. It was a fast fall with the unknown bottom rushing up to meet him.

He tried to think even as he was falling, if Dad was here, what would he do?

The wind began to whistle around him, the singers reaching a crescendo in the song, and he braced himself for a hard impact.

_♫♪ Mr. Sandmaaaaaan bring us a dreeeeeeeeam! ♪_

His body jerked suddenly and the song and all the other noise went silent, giving way to a quiet just as unnerving. It was as if he had been sound to sleep and had suddenly woken up in bed with a gasp. Only he wasn’t in bed at all, he was standing in a room so bright it hurt to open his eyes. He felt the soft solid ground under his bare feet.

“Dean?” A voice said, “Are you with me?”

He knew whatever rabbit hole he had just fallen down had nothing pleasant in store for him.

“Are you with me? Answer me, son.”

He had to blink a few times in order to adjust to the light. Everything was white. It had an antiseptic smell that turned his stomach. When his eyes finally adjusted and focused they landed on the formidable frame of John Winchester, standing only feet away from him. Dean snapped to attention out of habit upon seeing his father.

“I should have gotten you help a long time ago,” John said in a tired voice. “I should have listened when you tried to tell me you couldn’t hack it out there on your own.”

“What?” Dean’s mind took on a fuzzy feeling like someone was stuffing cotton balls into his brain, soaking up his understanding of the situation.

Dean was standing in a white padded room. He looked down to find himself in a straight jacket. He tugged his arms but they were strapped tight against his chest.

“What is this?” Dean asked still tugging at the stiff fabric that had him bound.

“Dean. I’m going to make it okay this time.”

“What the hell is happening?” This all felt too real, his father looked too real. 

“You never remember.”

“Tell me!” Dean was trying not to panic but failing. 

“Dean, you are in the Roosevelt Asylum. You’ve been here some years now.”

_Years?_ “What? How?”

John paced the room, scrubbing a hand over his face. His father did look aged, his hair graying, his face more lined than Dean remembered. He began to wonder if he really had gone all Cuckoo’s Nest.

“I couldn’t lose you both. You have to know that is why I put you in here. I thought maybe you could be saved.”

Saved. The word ricocheted around like a bullet off metal walls, cutting right through the cotton that seemed to be obscuring his thoughts.

“Sam?” Dean breathed out the name.

John’s voice had a sadness he usually only reserved for when he talked about Mary, “He is dead. Sam is dead, you know that.”

Dean shook his head, “No. No!” His stomach lurched. The room suddenly felt smaller, like its white padded walls were slowly being pushed in from the other side. He couldn’t breath. The jacket seemed tighter. 

“I came to ask again. The orderlies said you seemed more lucid today. I have to know, Dean, why? Why did you kill him?”

Dean backed away from John, away from those words. He nearly stumbled as he backed himself into the wall. “No. I didn’t kill Sam!” He shook his head tugging at the straight jacket, trying to find a weak spot in it.

“You cut his heart out. We found you in the motel, Dean, with his heart still in your hand.” John said.

Dean remembered the last thing he had seen, a line of blood on Sam’s chest. He turned away. “This isn’t real.”

His father pleaded, “I need to know why you did it.”

Dean’s chest ached, he couldn’t breathe. He had always been afraid of this, that he was going to lose it someday. End up another crazy, another dark thing in this dark world. But he hadn’t killed Sam. There was nothing that could _make_ him do that. 

“Sam. Sam. Sam.” Dean lowered his head chanting the sacred name. Then a thought tickled him. Wouldn’t that be exactly what a crazy person would do? Didn't most psychotics think they were perfectly sane?

He heard a click.

John had a handgun held at his side. “You ask me to do it every time I come. You beg me. I wasn’t strong enough before. I needed answers. I still do. But I can’t watch this anymore.”

“It didn’t happen! I’m not crazy!” It was hard to say given his current condition. No. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be. The gun that was suddenly pressed against the top of his bowed head however, felt very real. 

“Tell me you want it to end and I’ll make it end.”

If it were the truth, maybe he’d be better off if…

A moth flittered under his face and Dean followed it with his eyes. It vanished right through the room wall. He wasn’t crazy, that isn’t what was happening here. This was him getting his head screwed with.

The John-thing was still talking, saying words, but Dean wasn’t listening now. That wasn’t his father, because if Dean had turned into something dark John wouldn’t have hesitated to put him down on the spot and he knew it. He checked John right in the chest so he stumbled away from him. Dean banged his arm against the wall, wondering if he could dislocate his shoulder to get out of the jacket.

“Stop it!” John commanded, still pointing the gun.

Dean growled back, mostly to himself, “I have to save Sam!”

He had asked himself the wrong question. Not what would his father do. What would Sam do. What would he do right now, here facing this? He’d use that big brain of his and think his way out, that is what. He banged his arm into the wall once more.

“He is dead!” John yelled.

Dean realized how much time he had wasted here. Oh god, what if he couldn’t save Sam? What if he was already too late?

Just then something wet hit his face. A red line rolled down the front of the white straight jacket. It was so vivid against all the blinding white. He looked up and John was gone. Another drip down his cheek. His eyes moved higher, moved above him...his thoughts turned to Sam. He immediately snapped his face back down to the floor, his heart knocking in his chest. He knew what he would find if he looked up, the very thing that haunted his nightmares, the reason he rarely slept on his back for fear of waking up to one day see above his bed... 

The lights flickered and went out as a fiery heat surged from above him.

He squeezed his eyes shut. It wasn’t real, he kept telling himself. It wasn’t real. He wasn’t crazy, it was trying to make him crazy!

He knew he had to keep it together and he needed to get out of there but Dean…had nothing. How can you fight something so strong with _nothing_?

Dean’s hands were suddenly free and he was holding his lighter straight out in front of him once more. The flicker of the flame was all he could see as it danced in his shaking hand. He was in total darkness, no walls around him, no nightmares above. The soles of his boots were on a hard dark ground below him. He waited in silence for a moment.

“Hello?” He could hear nothing but his own breathing. He turned in a circle trying to get his bearings but the same blank nothing greeted him from all sides. He looked to the sky but found only blackness above him too, not a single guiding star. “Hello?” he repeated. He stared into the void until he felt like the darkness was staring back into him. The feeling gave him vertigo.

Unsure what else to do in this situation, he picked a direction and began to walk. He could feel the weight of his gun at his side and a sense of dread, just as heavy and real, clinging to him.

His mind felt fuzzy again like after a rough day and a bender, when he use to wake up in a strange bed. That feeling like he should be able to recall what was happening, where he was, but couldn’t. He shook his head and tried to orient himself but the harder he tried to understand the more elusive everything felt. What was he doing here?

He kept his light on even though there was nothing to see and kept moving, on and on, walking quickly. For a while he listened for any signs of movement or anything that might guide him. After the silence grew too heavy to bear he hummed Metallica, walking faster. He hummed every song that came to him. But soon the notes began to get lost in the fog in his head. The melodies muddled as if the darkness was taking each note he hummed and replacing it with a growing panic. He went silent. After a moment he stopped. He couldn’t remember…

...What had he been looking for?

Eventually the lighter got too hot to hold so he slapped the lid closed and shoved its too-warm case into his front jacket pocket. He could not even see his own hand in front of his face now. Dean had never been afraid of the dark, hell, he lived most his life in it. But this was something different. This darkness seeped into him, like water in the lungs of a drowning man. Felt like it was overtaking him, until perhaps he didn’t really exist at all. Maybe it didn’t matter. 

In the pitch black, the endless black, he began to run.

Only his harsh breathing and the slapping of his shoes on the ground kept him company. He was alone. There was no wind, no change in temperature, no sounds of other life. No direction, no purpose. Only the vast and terrible emptiness. The darkness.

An overwhelming sense of both claustrophobia and agoraphobia began to overtake him. But there was nowhere to turn. He pressed on, ran faster. Ran from the nothing. From the nothing that was, from the nothing _he_ was. Oh God, he didn’t want to be alone!

The gun made itself ever more known, like a growing weight, a something in the nothing. He ran until his lungs were on fire, until he couldn’t get a breath in and his sides stitched and ached. His head pounded but he kept going. He ran so far and so long until his legs finally gave out and he stumbled and fell to the ground.

The despair, the sadness, the emptiness was instantly upon him. They were more tangible a thing than any monster he had ever fought. The feelings sunk into his bones, made his body feel too heavy to move. He finally let himself sink down, his chest heaving violently, feeling like he’d never get back up again.

He waited for minutes or perhaps years. Time had no master here and no meaning.

Though he couldn’t remember how, the gun had made its way into his hand. He closed his eyes and felt the cold metal warming to the skin of his palm. His finger touched the trigger. Death, at least, that would be… _something. Wouldn’t it be nice to give in?_ That thought jolted him as it did not feel like his own.

The darkness was inside his head too.

_This is the answer._

He held the gun up.

“No.”

When there was nothing left for Dean, when everything could be taken from him, lost in a fog of nightmares like it had so often before, there would still be, always be…

“Sam!” he screamed out as the memory of his brother broke free and flooded into his mind once more. Not heaven or hell or death itself could rip Sam from him. He thought hard, tried to focus and remember the person he loved most in this world. The memories this place seemed to be trying to obscure from his mind began to slowly come into focus once more.

The warmth of Sam’s arms was the first memory back and was so real it felt like an actual embrace. Those arms were around him, those strong arms that said home and love, that hugged him close and always meant you are alive, I am alive, it is us against the world for another day.

Sam’s laughter. The slap of his hand on Dean’s shoulder. The quiet nights, a beer in hand and everything they needed to say summed up with a smile. His warm and steady presence to the right of Dean through endless miles. All the little things of Sam filtered back into Dean replacing the cold nothing with the warmth of love.

He took a deep breath. It felt like the first he had taken in some time and his chest hurt. The memory of Sam’s voice whispered to him again, _Always keep fighting._

Dean rose back to his feet, heavy as if he had to break through chains to rise. But rise he did. He held his gun up. He knew the nothing wanted him to join it in the void. But Dean refused to lay down and die.

He pointed the gun straight in front of him and let out a shot into the darkness, lighting it up for a split second with the muzzle flash. Something hissed and spat and he shot again and the world seemed to come alive once more. 

Inhuman cries and the thundering sound of feet pounding the earth were coming at him. The sounds turned his blood cold. They were ravenous hungry screams, filled with a need so strong no human had ever suffered it while alive. Hell hounds themselves never made a noise that frightening.

He pulled the lighter from his pocket. He was doing no good for Sam out here stumbling around with no direction. Besides, if something was going to take him down, well, he wanted to look it in the eye.

He flicked his thumb over the striker.

Dean had seen a lot of ugly in his life, vamps, demons, but this was something else entirely. The things had faces that Dean thought must be the embodiment of madness itself.

Their bodies were twisted with scars of pale hanging flesh, as they crawled down off the dark walls and up from the floors. Their bones looked broken and joints out of place in too many places to move, yet still they ran at Dean with their arms outstretched fingers bent towards him. Their wicked razor teeth gnashed as their bodies danced around like a distorted marionette doll with a madman pulling the strings. These were the creatures that nightmares had nightmares of.

He had seen enough, he might be brave but he wasn’t stupid, he turned and hightailed it outta there.

The noise behind him was a great and mighty unified roar as they pursued.

Dean kept his head down. He had to make it, he had to! He had to save Sam! But how could he save him when he kept on waking up from one terror to the next?

An instant later he slammed into a wall that seemed to come out of nowhere, almost knocking the wind out of himself. He scrambled around at the wall as fast as he could but found no entrance or door in the towering stone. He pounded a fist into it.

That was when the nearest creature behind him lunged.

The first beast on him locked its jaws into his shoulder, its teeth piercing through his jacket and into his flesh like a hot knife through butter. Dean cried out, dropping his lighter to the ground and swinging a fist. When punching seemed futile he gouged at the creature’s wild eyes with his fingers until it screeched back in pain and released him. Dean wasted no time in putting an elbow into the soft meat of the monster’s face then slammed the bulbous, hairless head into the stone wall with a wet awful crack. He shot another approaching beast right between the eyes and it crumpled.

More nightmare visions of a world worse than hell swarmed him. The Sandman had sent his whole damn army. Dean could feel the hot rush of his blood as it slid down the inside of his jacket sleeve and dripped down his fingers. The pain was very real. This place had to be very real on some level. He backed himself up against the door-less wall. The creatures knew now he was not going to be an easy meal, so they were circling, closing in like a pack to attack all at once.

The gun was slippery in his hand and he only had so many bullets left.

This was it.

The monsters shrieked in one voice and moved at him. With blood still gushing down his palm Dean held his hand out and braced himself in place. He needed more time-he just needed-

The answer came to Dean in a shrieking rush all at once much like the monsters had.

“Stop!” he shouted as the creatures lunged. The first circle of creatures burst into sand in midair, falling harmlessly to the ground in a pile, a wave of dust washing over him.

Everything he had seen, these were _his_ nightmares. Maybe this was the Sandman’s realm, but this was Dean’s siesta, his world. His rules. He knew it was time to stop throwing logic at dreams for the hope that they would make sense.

“All I gotta do is snap my fingers and you go bye-bye,” Dean said in a victorious tone to the Freddy Kruger wannabes backing away from him. But he thought he could do one better. Dean held up his hand to the darkness, to the nothing and concentrated hard. Thought about Sam. And he created.

A sun, bright and big, came pulling up on the horizon. It’s vast yellow-orange glow lit the world of perpetual night. The creatures all howled, many scampering for shadows. The ones that were not fast enough burst into piles of sand.

He had seen the real power and danger of this place. It was hellbent on destroying him, if not with a bullet then any way it could, even in simply obscuring the important things or growing so afraid the pain became real. But seeing that there were no rules to this land, he began to understand how he could use it. Yes, he knew how to fight the son of a bitch now.

Around him was a stark white landscape, like an endless desert had been whitewashed. Like he had reached the end of the film reel of life and was greeted with the blank screen. The only colorful thing in this land was the vast fortress that stood in front of him. It was the type of ancient ruins you would expect an endless dream god to rule from. Fantastical architecture in whimsical dreamy patterns, but decaying and dark like a nightmare.

Dean held up his hand and the wall in front of the fortress came tumbling down. There stood a massive door behind it, which also crumbled at Dean’s will. A thick wind of stale air blew out from behind it, smelling of decay and rotting sweetness. Sunlight shone through the windows now, illuminating the swaths of floating dust and ruin as he made his way inside.

He wasn’t more than a few feet past the entrance when he heard Sam’s agonized yell for help. He knew without a doubt that was not a dream crying out for him, the way the pain in Sam’s voice struck at Dean’s soul could not be mistaken.

He ran toward the call as fast as he could. He flung doors off their hinges with a wave of his hand and the anger seething out of him. He blew past rooms where beasts were waiting for him, an army of ugly nightmares standing at the ready, but Dean went through them like a kid kicking a sandcastle down at the beach. He ran through the corridors with his focus on only one thing, his brother’s voice.

He was close. He forced open another door, and another. Dean was going to burn this monster’s entire kingdom to the ground!

“Dean!” He could make out the agony wrapped around each letter of his name.

“Sammy!”

 

To be continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh…*shifts around nervously* Sorry for the wait. And sorry if this sucked. This chapter has been sitting in a folder for awhile now, and you might tell me that is where it should have stayed! ha. I was going through some stuff when this was written...  
> (In Cas voice: That was unpleasant).  
> Funny enough I wrote about the darkness before Season 10 ended. Anyway, I’m rambling, point is: I swear to god this story is swinging back around to what y’all want… Don’t give up on me! This will get finished.


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